


A Secondary Education

by Thunderbird587



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Draco Malfoy, Casual Sex, Coming Out, Confident Harry, Eventual Romance, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Frottage, Gay Harry Potter, Grief/Mourning, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hogwarts, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/F Sex Fantasy (brief), M/M, Masturbation, Minor Impotence Issues (resolved), Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oral Sex, Past Infidelity, Professors, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Switching, Terminal Illness (of a minor character)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-07-27 16:49:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 234,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderbird587/pseuds/Thunderbird587
Summary: Fleeing the aftermath of his recent divorce, Draco Malfoy takes up a post as the new Potions Master at Hogwarts. At first he believes his hopes for a fresh start are dashed when he sees that a certain boyhood rival is on staff there as well. But Harry Potter is being weirdly nice to him, leaving Draco no choice but to play along. As Draco reckons with his ex-wife's infidelity and questions about his own sexuality, he finds himself going to an openly gay Potter for guidance. As their friendship deepens, Draco realizes that there is quite a lot that Potter can teach him. And that he is surprisingly ready to learn.





	1. Lesson 1: There Is No Escape

**Author's Note:**

> All right, the second fic I'm posting here on AO3! I'm so excited to share this with you! There's going to be a lot in here, as you know I like to delve deep with my characters.
> 
> I do feel a need to give you fair warning that this fic is very smutty. Not right away, as we need to ease into it a bit, but after the first few chapters... yeah. There's a lot of smut. I'm really kind of surprised at myself. Sex is a central element of the plot line and, more importantly, Draco's journey as a character. So a lot of time is spent on it, more than I've ever written before. It doesn't have a lot of specific kink but it is fairly graphic. Just felt a need to say that up front, in case it's not your cup of tea. No hard feelings if it isn't!
> 
> It's not JUST about sex, though, I promise. It's as much about overcoming heartbreak, regaining self-respect, learning to think for yourself, and a bunch of other lovely, heartwarming things that I really enjoy writing about. As is true of all my fiction my characters are very introspective and tend to wax philosophical, especially when they've been drinking... or just had sex :) I can't help it. It's what I like to write, dammit!
> 
> So I hope you'll take the journey with me. I think you might enjoy the ride. Here's the introductory chapter for you. After this one the chapters will get longer. It's an unfinished fic so I will be updating every Sunday until I run out of chapters. But I am also trying very diligently to write so (fingers crossed) maybe that won't happen! Comments and kudos are always a help with that <3

Draco watched Headmistress McGonagall’s profile as they walked side by side through Hogwarts, saying little. The witch next to him would speak occasionally, pointing out something of note as they passed it: how Bartholomew the Bizarre’s portrait had been moved to the third floor, or that there had been an incident in the Ancient Runes corridor last year and it had to be blocked off indefinitely (apparently the floor still melted your shoes if you tried to walk on it), or other things that had changed.

But mostly, Draco noted, things were the same as he remembered. After the war Hogwarts had been fully restored to its former glory: turrets, staircases, suits of armor, and all. It even smelled the same: like fresh ink, old parchment, damp stone, and potent teenage pheromones.

Memories were accosting him from all sides, bright and sharp, painful even, and so he watched McGonagall’s profile to distract himself, wondering how it was possible for someone to look years older and yet exactly the same all at once.

“Your quarters, Professor Malfoy,” she said after she stopped them in front of a small wooden door on the fourth floor. “I hope you will find them to your liking.” She concentrated on the small brass knocker on the door, which slowly opened its bleary eyes to look at her. “Draconis,” she said to it, and the door swung open. She gestured him inside.

“Feel free to set your own password for the door,” she told him as he looked around the cozy space. “That was simply a placeholder. And you can certainly transfigure the furniture to your liking.”

He nodded, taking in the armchairs by the fire and the sizeable but empty bookcase along the far wall. It wasn’t much, nothing like his master suite in the manor, but it looked comfortable enough.

“The bedroom is through there,” she said. “And you have your own bathroom behind that landscape of Loch Lomond.”

His gaze followed her hand and he nodded. “Excellent,” he managed, after a moment.

“I’ll leave you to get settled,” she said. “We’re having an informal gathering in the staff room in about an hour, to introduce new staff. You know your way there, or shall I fetch you in an hour’s time?”

“I can find my way,” Draco said. “Thank you, Headmistress.”

“The pleasure is mine, Professor Malfoy.” The witch turned to go, but then paused and turned back. “I am quite pleased that you are here. I know the rest of the staff will feel the same.”

 _We’ll see_ , Draco thought, but simply nodded in return.

McGonagall left, and he was alone. Terribly, annoyingly, embarrassingly alone.

Draco let out a small huff and began to unpack his trunk with a few waves of his wand. He tried very hard, as he had his clothes hang themselves in the closet and his books arrange themselves alphabetically on the shelves, not to think about how he had come to find himself in this situation, a situation where he could no longer bear to be in his own home, a situation where the prospect of teaching unruly adolescents the complex art of potion-making was preferable to a life of leisure spent with his wife and newborn son.

 _Not_ my _son_ , he reminded himself bitterly. _And Astoria’s not my wife anymore either._

That choice had been painful, but simple. One moment he was clutching his wife’s clammy hand, wiping at her pale brow, telling her “One more push, love, just one more.” And the next, there he was, the baby, the son he had been waiting for, ruddy, and pruney, and wailing. Only… something wasn’t quite right. Because the boy was dark, in hair and in skin, a virtual impossibility considering the paleness and blondeness of both of his parents.

There had been a moment of silence as Draco took in the sight, as the baby was cleaned and prepared to hand over to his new parents. And then Astoria had said, her voice hoarse, “I had been really hoping… I had truly been hoping he was yours.”

But the baby was not his. It was his best friend Blaise Zabini’s. And that was that. He was not going to raise another man’s child, not in those circumstances. The humiliation would have been simply too much to bear, far worse than being the first Malfoy in three centuries to divorce his spouse.

So the matter had been handled quietly, and Astoria and her new son had moved speedily to the Zabini estate. In the following months Draco had wandered his empty manor aimlessly, like a ghost, wondering when the humiliation and heartbreak would fade.

It didn’t. A few months in, Draco knew something had to be done. Malfoys did not dwell on unpleasant things. Malfoys did not wallow in self-pity. And so Draco went looking for something to distract, to get him out of his house and his memories and the void his wife had left in her wake.

And so he found Hogwarts. Again. After seven years. It would be a fresh start, he decided. A chance to begin again, and to do something worthwhile in the process. At least, that was what he hoped.

He glanced at the grandfather clock against the wall of his sitting room and realized he’d whiled away the whole hour ruminating on his misfortune. It was time to join the rest of the staff, and, while he wasn’t in the most social of moods, he found himself welcoming the diversion.

***

The makeup of the Hogwarts staff was much as it has been in Draco’s time as a student. Flitwick still taught Charms, Sinistra taught Astronomy, and Binns was apparently still boring his students out of their skulls in History of Magic. Babbling and Vector were still thick as thieves, teaching Ancient Runes and Arithmancy respectively, and Trelawney and the centaur Firenze were splitting the Divination classes. Sprout, Pomfrey, Filch, Hooch, and Pince were all present as well.

There were a few new faces, though, Draco was happy to note as he stood around, pumpkin juice in hand, making polite conversation with his new colleagues. The Care of Magical Creatures professor was a slim, balding, surprisingly well-kempt wizard named Gibbs, and Transfiguration was now being taught by the dark and lovely Francesca Bianchi, who also happened to be the new head of Slytherin house now that Slughorn was retired.

Professor Bianchi had been a few years above him at Hogwarts, and they hadn’t crossed paths much during those years. But he was quite enjoying his conversation with her now. The brunette was just the sort of witch Draco would have gone for, normally. Stunning in both looks and intelligence, she was poised and well-spoken, and had an admirable sense of Slytherin pride. And she was a pureblood to boot, meaning his parents would certainly have approved.

But he realized, as he took in her keen dark eyes, her lush mouth, and her delicate curves, that her presence made him feel nothing beyond a moderate professional curiosity. Though she was a near-perfect specimen in every respect, she did absolutely nothing for him.

He silently cursed Astoria - and the damage she had obviously done to his ability to be attracted to anyone - as Bianchi continued to expound on the ways she was approaching heading Slytherin house in a different fashion than her predecessors.

“It frustrates me to no end that Slytherin has been pegged as the house of troublemakers,” she was saying. “We are supposed to be the house of dignity and good breeding, getting what’s ours through cunning, not cruelty. I will be making it clear to my students this year that bullying and insubordination will not be tolerated. Leave that to the Gryffindors, I say.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Draco said. “Whatever I can do to help, consider it done.”

“I appreciate that,” she replied with a warm - one might even say flirtatious - smile (Draco waited, but, again, felt absolutely nothing in reaction, not even a twitch below the belt. _Damn Astoria_ ). “We’ll have our house winning the Cup this year, just you wait and see.”

Draco was going to reply (with something witty and charming, of course), when there was a commotion by the door. Someone had just come through, apologizing profusely for his lateness, and those around the new arrival were gregariously welcoming him, as if they had been waiting for him all along.

“I got caught up on a floo call.” The voice was deeper than Draco remembered, but still shockingly familiar. He felt a frisson of confusion travel up his spine, followed by a wave of dismay that crested under his breastbone and crashed into his stomach, making him suddenly ill.

_Harry Potter._

It was just like the old days, when they were in school. Now that Potter was in the room, all attention was on him. He made his way through the crowd of faculty, shaking hands and kissing cheeks, a huge grin plastered on his face and warm laughter in his voice.

_Harry fucking Potter._

Was he on staff here? How did Draco not know this before? He looked around the room, doing the maths in his head, and realized there had been no Defense Against the Dark Arts professor accounted for yet. Why hadn’t he realized that?

_Harry goddamn fucking Potter._

Draco had believed that behind the thick walls of Hogwarts castle he could hide from his past, finally find a safe place to lick his wounds and start anew. This only confirmed how naïve he had been. Apparently, there was no escaping the past.

There was no escape from being spotted either, as Potter made his way through the room. His green eyes fell on Draco, a look of surprise passing across his face. He made his way over.

“Harry,” Bianchi said affectionately, offering her cheek.

Potter obliged. “Francesca. You’re looking gorgeous as ever. How was your summer?”

“It was lovely,” she beamed at him, bright as a _lumos_ charm. (Hadn’t she _just_ been complaining about Gryffindors? How had Potter, the worst of the lot, managed to win her over so profoundly?) “I spent it in Tuscany with my family, as usual.”

“Of course,” Potter replied smoothly. “How’s the vineyard?”

“Doing very well. Papa says it’s going to be a very good year for Chianti.”

“Glad to hear it. I’ll have to reserve a case.”

As they chatted Draco took in Potter’s appearance with what was probably blatant disbelief. The gangly teenager in baggy clothes and ridiculous round glasses was no more. In his place stood a lean but broad-shouldered man in a simple but stylish Muggle ensemble that fit him to perfection. He wore slender, ovular spectacles with thin frames, making him look simultaneously professorial and sophisticated. Behind the unobtrusive eyewear his bright green eyes could be seen easily (had they always been that green?), glinting with confidence. Even his dark hair, which Draco remembered being unruly in the Gryffindor’s youth, was sleek and well-styled, suiting the shape of his face and his strong jaw perfectly.

 _What is happening?_ Draco wondered in horror. _What parallel dimension have I accidentally wandered into?_

“And, of course, you know Draco Malfoy,” Bianchi was saying, getting Draco’s attention once again. “He’s our new Potions Master.”

“Right, of course,” said Potter, turning to Draco and giving him a smile. “Good to see you again, Malfoy.” He held out a hand.

Draco took it, half in shock. “Thank you,” he said. “It’s good to be back here.” His eyes never left Potter’s face, searching that bright, white smile for some hidden animosity or ill will. But he found nothing of the sort.

And then Potter asked after his parents, as if he _cared_ if they were living or dead, and when Draco told him that they had moved to France, Potter asked _where_ in France, like he was genuinely interested.

“The Malfoys have had a hidden estate in the Loire Valley for centuries,” he said.

“Right. That’s central France, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I was talking to someone recently who was telling me about how beautiful central France is,” Potter said, looking between Draco and Bianchi. “Most people go on and on about Paris, and Provence, and Nice, but in truth the central regions are equally beautiful. There are all these extinct volcanoes and everything is very green there, so I hear. And apparently they make very good cheese.”

“And excellent wine,” Bianchi chimed in.

“Well, you would know all about that,” Potter said, and the two professors beamed at each other some more.

This led to Potter explaining to Draco about Professor Bianchi’s family, her father and one of her aunts who were both expert winemakers in the Chianti region of Italy. “They use a mix of magical and Muggle methods, as I understand it.” He turned to Bianchi, who nodded in confirmation. He then went on to say that Draco would be well-served to reserve a case of what was currently being bottled, and nudging at Bianchi about whether she had a bottle of the 2001 vintage for Draco to try, as that had been particularly good, and Bianchi replied that she didn’t, but she could get her hands on a bottle of the 2003, which was also excellent, and would Draco like to try it?

He, of course, felt obligated to say “Yes, that would be lovely,” although not merely to be polite, but because Potter had somehow made him feel actually included in their conversation, though in truth Draco had contributed very little.

It was all so very bizarre. Somewhere along the way between killing the Dark Lord and becoming a Hogwarts professor, Potter had not only learned how to dress and groom himself, but he had learned how to be _charming._ It was completely throwing off Draco’s equilibrium.

And, frankly, it left a rather bitter taste in Draco’s mouth. There really was no justice in the world, it seemed. Not only did Potter get to be famous and beloved in his youth for surviving something as an infant that he’d actually had no real control over, but now he got to be confident and attractive and _still_ beloved in his adulthood for no good reason (other than saving the world, but really, that was _years_ ago). Potter, standing there, looking like he had all aspects of his life well in hand, only served to remind Draco of how thoroughly his own life had fallen to bits.

Thankfully he was soon rescued by Professor Babbling, who he’d always liked. Though she was a severe looking witch, with graying dark hair and a pointed nose, she was actually quite kind, and immediately asked how Draco was feeling about the Potions curriculum and the lesson planning, and letting him know that if he needed any guidance, she would be happy to provide it.

“It’s no comment on your skills, Draco, you understand,” she said. “But the first year of teaching can be overwhelming. Just know that I’m in your corner, as is the rest of the staff. We support and help each other here.”

On the way back to his quarters after the gathering, Draco tried to sort through his feelings. On the one hand, the entire endeavor had gone quite well. It seemed that McGonagall had not misrepresented things, and the staff was glad to have him join their ranks. In this respect he was feeling more optimistic than ever about his choice to return to Hogwarts, and actually looking forward to beginning the school year and reimmersing himself in his most beloved subject.

But, on the other hand, there was Potter.

It would have been easier if Potter had been cold and distant, if he had simply avoided Draco and made it clear that they need not interact, ever, if they could help it. Draco would have been perfectly content with that.

But no, Potter had to be nice to him, and act like he wanted to bridge the chasm that had grown wider by the year since that initial rejection on the Hogwarts Express. He knew this couldn’t _really_ be true. It had to be an act, for the benefit of their colleagues (especially Bianchi, who Potter _clearly_ wanted to bed, if he wasn’t bedding her already). But even if it was just an act, Draco was now forced to play along, and that irked him. If Potter chose to be kind, what choice did he have but to be at least somewhat friendly in return? 


	2. Lesson 2: What You Miss When You Don't Pay Attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! The chapters are about to get longer and the Drarry a bit juicier. Your continued feedback is always appreciated <3

Draco welcomed the bustle of the start of term with open arms. Before the students arrived the castle was far too quiet for his liking. He’d tried to fill the time the best he could with lesson planning and familiarizing himself with his new classroom and store pantry, but even then there were way too many empty hours that left themselves open for brooding, and that didn’t suit Draco at all.

But once classes started, there was plenty to distract. He was teaching all seven years, as there was currently no other Potions Master on staff, and what with Potions classes always being double-periods, it meant his mornings and afternoons were quite busy most days, and the free periods he did have were spent on further lesson planning, inventory of his ingredients, and looking over Slughorn’s old evaluations of the students, in order to get to know them better.

Draco found himself thinking fondly of his godfather, Severus Snape, throughout that first week, remembering how the late Potions Master used to refer to most of the students (who weren’t Slytherin, or the occasional Ravenclaw) as “dunderheads” and complain about their incompetence and basic lack of critical thinking skills.

Draco thought he’d have the hardest time with the 1st years, as most of them were coming in without any prior Potions knowledge at all and were therefore bound to be as incompetent as Severus had always complained they were. But he found them surprisingly tolerable. They were so small and wide-eyed and awestruck about being at Hogwarts that they did just about anything he instructed them to, and seemed very eager to please. (Plus, though he would never admit this aloud, their sweetness and tiny-ness rather endeared them to Draco, in the soft, hidden part of his heart that his father never would approve of if he knew it existed.)

It was the 2nd and 3rd years, Draco soon discovered, that were the most frustrating. They had been at Hogwarts long enough that the novelty had worn off, and they were comfortable there. Yet they also didn’t know nearly enough Potions theory or have nearly enough practice to be very good at brewing. The latter made them incompetent, and the former made them irreverent, and that was not a good combination. Draco found himself in those classes doing quite a bit of yelling and docking points that first week, determined that if they were going to insist on being dunderheads when it came to Potions, they should at least have the decency to be ashamed of it.

But the more advanced classes, particularly his NEWT students, were outright enjoyable. The 6th and 7th years were passionate, knowledgeable, and fastidious, he could already tell, and knew his time with them would be the bright spots of each week.

Navigating the social aspect of being on the Hogwarts staff was another matter altogether. While everyone continued to be welcoming, there were still certain people (Potter) that Draco wanted to avoid, but said people (Potter) made it quite difficult, considering that these people (Potter) had no qualms about sitting near Draco during mealtimes and chiming in on conversations that were not theirs (Potter’s) to chime in on.

Draco would have liked to be able to accuse the Defense Professor of going out of his way to annoy him, but that didn’t seem to be the case either. Potter sometimes sat nearby at meals, particularly if Draco was sitting next to Francesca (the witch had insisted after a few days that they ought to be on a first name basis), Flitwick, or the Headmistress. But other days he was far on the other side of the staff table, looking perfectly content to chat to Hooch about Quidditch or ask Gibbs details about his time spent traveling in Asia, paying Draco no mind at all. Likewise, when they passed each other in the halls Potter would often meet his eyes and give him a nod or a friendly “Professor Malfoy” in acknowledgment. And yet other times, when Potter was walking and talking with a student or a colleague, he would be so engaged in the conversation that he wouldn’t notice Draco passing by at all and completely ignore him.

Being ignored by Potter irritated Draco almost as much as being acknowledged by him, for some reason, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

Perhaps it was the fact that Potter walked around Hogwarts like he owned the place. Draco remembered (with wistful fondness) Severus accusing Potter of the same thing when they were in school. But Draco had to admit that compared to now, the younger Potter hadn’t strutted very much at all. He’d actually been rather timid and reserved, at least in the early years. And then in the later years Draco remembered him being unreasonably angry and self-righteous. But he hadn’t done much strutting.

He was making up for that now, apparently. The problem was, the behavior of the students and staff seemed to only encourage him. Draco had already seen firsthand how well liked he was among the staff, but he’d been horrified to discover just how true this was of the students as well. Draco overheard many conversations that first week about how exciting it was that they would be starting Defense that day. And it wasn’t even because Potter was famous! They just thought he was a good teacher. They just liked learning from him.

He’d even won over some Slytherins. Only three days into the term Draco saw Potter on his way to the Great Hall for lunch while Artemis Flint, a Slytherin 7th year who’d had a promising start to the term in Draco’s own class, talked Potter’s ear off about some Defense theory they had just learned and how apparently fascinating it was, and maybe did Potter have some time over the weekend to discuss it some more over tea, because he might want to do his final NEWT thesis on it.

Potter had smiled graciously and informed the student that it would be his pleasure, but then reminded him not to work too hard, since it was only the first week and he didn’t want Flint to get too burnt out.

Flint had merely grinned and told him not to worry, then scurried off with a “Thanks Professor, you’re the best!”

By then he and Potter were both at the doors to the Great Hall, and Potter had opened one of them and then gestured to Draco with a small smile. “After you, Professor Malfoy.”

Draco’d had no choice but to nod and say “Thank you, Professor Potter” like he really meant it, which really was the icing on the cake for this whole ridiculous situation.

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter did not nod and smile and open _doors_ for each other, for Merlin’s sake.

But Draco was determined that, no matter how much irritation Potter caused him, he would carry on. Even two weeks in he felt he’d already hit his stride as a teacher and was settling into the routine nicely. This was much better than sitting around the manor moping, and he would be damned if Potter was going to ruin it for him.

***

“Miss McNeal, would you be so kind as to stay behind a moment?” Draco asked of the small, sandy-haired witch who’d sat in the front row for every single one of his classes so far.

Raisie McNeal looked at him with wide blue eyes and nodded as the others around her packed up their things and made for the door. It was Friday and this was the last class of the day, so the students were even more anxious to get out than usual. Draco suppressed a smile at the girl’s sudden nervousness.

“You’re not in trouble,” he told her once the other students had gone. “I was simply curious about your treatment of the Galerina in brewing today. The instructions stated they needed to be shredded, and yet you chopped them, and your anti-nausea potion turned out to be far more potent than the others in the class. I was curious if there was a connection between the two, as I haven’t seen that method before.”

McNeal blushed. She was a shy young woman, but quite bright. She was a 4th year Gryffindor and a Muggleborn, the kind of person that Draco would have ignored (or terrorized) in his youth. But Draco was not fifteen anymore, and he could recognize talent when it was sitting right in front of him.

“It was something I decided to try, to see what would happen,” McNeal said softly. “I remember Professor Slughorn saying last year that mushrooms sliced against the grain of their fibers release more of their active ingredients when stewed. And then you were talking at the start of class about how working with Asphodel leaves can reverse the effects of poisonous ingredients, which was why it was safe to use the Galerina in the first place…”

“And so you made the Galerina more potent, believing that the Asphodel would counteract the poison and make the anti-nausea effects stronger,” Draco finished for her.

“Yes, sir. Exactly.”

“That,” Draco said, considering her line of thinking for a moment, “was absolutely inspired.”

She outright beamed at him, and Draco felt an embarrassing amount of warmth bloom in his chest.

“I’m going to ask you not to write the essay I assigned on herbal infusions. I would rather you write me an essay on the theory behind your experiment and how it could be applied in other circumstances.”

She was wide-eyed again. “Yes sir, but why?”

“Because it’s an interesting theory, and it may be the beginning of something for you to work with in the long run. You’re not NEWT level yet, but you will be, and this is just the sort of topic that could work well as a research thesis. I thought you might want the opportunity to get ahead.”

“Oh, I do, Professor,” she said, looking at him with pure awe. “I really do.”

“Good, then write me the essay, and we’ll go from there.”

“I will. Thank you, sir.”

“Of course. Have a lovely weekend.”

“You too, sir,” she squeaked, and was gone.

Draco tried not to smile to himself, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about young minds at work that warmed him. He found the prospect of shaping and honing those minds more exciting than he ever would have thought.

“Good week?” came a voice from the open doorway, and Draco looked up. Potter stood there, watching him, and Draco felt his smile dissolve.

“Come again?” he asked indifferently as he packed up his desk for the day.

“I asked if it had been a good week,” Potter said, stepping further into the room. “You were smiling, so I thought perhaps it was.”

Draco hesitated, but realized he really had no reason not to answer honestly. “Yes, it was a very good week.”

“I’m glad to hear it. It seems like you’re settling in nicely.”

A number of snarky replies bubbled in Draco’s throat, but he suppressed them with a swallow and merely nodded.

“I just passed Raisie McNeal on my way here. She was positively glowing. She says you’re the best professor she’s ever had, and you’re giving her the opportunity to do NEWT level work.”

Draco watched Potter carefully a moment, wondering what his angle was. “It’s her doing, not mine. She’s already naturally advanced. I just thought I’d help her take advantage of it.”

“Yes, she’s quite talented, isn’t she?” Potter agreed. “She’s doing exceptional work in my class as well. But I have a feeling she likes Potions better than Defense. She loves to read and research. Reminds me a lot of Hermione, actually.”

“Yes, except unlike Granger Miss McNeal doesn’t have to make sure everyone knows how intelligent she is all the time.” The words were out of his mouth before he remembered whom he was talking to. He then shrugged internally and reminded himself that he shouldn’t care if he offended Potter or not.

To his utter surprise Potter laughed and said, “Very true. Hermione really did have a habit of that sometimes, didn’t she?” Even though he was apparently agreeing with Draco, he said it with affection rather than disdain. “I remember how she used to be so intent on being called on to answer a question that she would practically stand up in her chair trying to be noticed.”

Draco snorted, in spite of himself. He remembered that as well. “How is Granger, these days?” Again, the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Why was he asking after Hermione Granger of all people and actually prolonging a conversation with Potter?

“She’s great. She works at the Ministry, as does Ron, though she’s a solicitor and he’s an Auror. They’re married now, and talking about children, maybe.”

“Lovely,” said Draco, feeling even more sorry he had asked. He had no interest in hearing about other people’s happy marriages or plans to start families. Potter had probably married the Weasley girl and had a couple of brats of his own, come to think of it. Draco had always assumed that was what would happen, not that he’d paid much attention to whether it did.

A surreptitious look at Potter’s left ring finger found it empty, and Draco had to wonder why he even cared in the first place.

“So, look, I, um…” Potter said, and actually sounded a bit awkward, almost like his teenage self. Draco found himself looking up at the brunet again. “I noticed you aren’t on duty tonight, and I’m not either, and I was wondering if you’d fancy grabbing a drink in Hogsmeade with me.”

Draco was outright staring now, and Potter raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“A drink. With you.”

“That’s right.”

“And no one else.”

“Yes.”

Draco stared some more. “Why?”

Potter laughed nervously. “It’s, uh…” He laughed again, the sound making Draco grit his teeth. “You have to admit, it’s just a little… strange, us being here, together, colleagues, and all. And what with the way things used to be, in school. I just… I’d really like to put that chapter of my life behind me in every way. Seeing you… has… brought back some of it for me and I’d like to move forward instead of backward, if that makes any sense. I’d like to move on.”

Draco found himself staring again. Every time he thought he had Potter’s game figured out, the man surprised him. First, at the staff introduction, he was overly charming, as if trying to win Draco over, or perhaps outdo him. Then, when term started, he behaved like Draco was just any other colleague. And now he was here, spilling his guts about how Draco’s presence brought up trauma from his past.

It was as though he wanted to keep Draco constantly off-kilter, and never let him get comfortable.

“I can tell you’re uncomfortable too,” Potter went on, and Draco had to wonder if the man had started practicing Legilimency. “Even though you’re handling it very well. But I thought… well, I’ve seen what can happen when two Hogwarts professors don’t get on. It can become a pretty toxic environment for the students. I don’t want that to happen. And I also… well, with the way things were left after the war, it seemed like maybe there was an opening for us… I’m not saying we’ll wind up best mates or anything. But we could at least be friendly.”

 _Friendly._ Was Potter actually admitting that he wanted to be _friends_ with Draco? It was true that towards the end of the war, and in the aftermath, Potter and the Malfoys had actually done some things to help each other out. Some life debts had been accrued in the process, though it was agreed, after Potter testified for them and kept them all out of Azkaban, that those were settled. But he hadn’t heard a word from Potter since.

 _He doesn’t actually care about being your friend_ , Draco told himself. _He just wants to make sure that if you’re going to be on staff here that you don’t fuck things up for him in his perfect little world where everyone loves him._

Then again, Draco rather liked it at Hogwarts, and didn’t want Potter fucking things up for him either.

“So what do you say, Malfoy? One drink? Don’t worry, I’m buying.”

Draco scoffed. “I have an entire Malfoy fortune with which to buy myself firewhiskey, Potter, thank you very much.”

“Fine then. You’re buying,” Potter replied with a grin.

Draco let out a surprised laugh before he could stop himself. _Dammit._ Potter was _not_ supposed to be able to make him laugh.

“Fine,” he heard himself say. “One drink. You pay.”

“Excellent. Meet at the Three Broomsticks at nine?”

“Sure,” Draco said, dread already settling in his stomach like lead. “Nine o’clock.”

***

Draco adjusted his tie and scowled. _Why_ he was even preening himself, just to go to the Three Broomsticks, just to see _Potter_ , was beyond him. At least he’d had the sense to stay in his teaching robes, rather than putting on something nicer and more stylish, a clear sign of how much he didn’t care for this outing.

 _It’s going to be a disaster anyway,_ he reminded himself. He couldn’t imagine what the two of them would have to talk about. They would probably just sit across from each other awkwardly and comment on how the décor hadn’t changed a bit and finish their drinks quickly so they could get out of there.

Maybe then Potter would let go of this “being friendly” business and they could settle into the inevitability of avoiding each other for the rest of the school year.

Draco deliberately left his quarters only a little before nine, guaranteeing that he would be at least ten minutes late to the pub. It was mainly to make sure that he and Potter didn’t run into each other in the entrance hall, and therefore have to find a way to make conversation all the way to Hogsmeade, but it also had the added bonus of making Potter sweat.

 _Let’s leave him wondering if I’m even going to show_. He smirked to himself at the thought of Potter sitting alone, drumming his fingers on the table and glancing at the clock every ten seconds.

It was petty, he knew, but when it came to Harry Potter, he reserved the right to be as petty as he liked.

The Three Broomsticks was quiet for a Friday, Draco noted, although he quickly remembered that it only ever really felt full on Saturday afternoons when the students were in Hogsmeade. There were some patrons, mostly on the older side, nursing drinks at the bar or chatting quietly together at tables, looking relaxed but weary from a long week.

Draco searched the room and spotted Potter at a small table in the corner, a firewhiskey in front of him that looked mostly untouched. He was… _reading_ of all things, some Muggle paperback by the look of it, seeming fully immersed. In fact, it took a few seconds, after Draco had approached the table, for him to realize that his companion had arrived.

As Draco’s shadow fell over him (quite pointedly) he glanced up, smiling.

“You showed up,” he said simply.

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Draco thought Potter might have commented on his lateness, but he didn’t, instead signaling to the barmaid. “What’ll you have?” he asked Draco, turning back to him.

“Firewhiskey, thank you.”

Potter nodded and turned back to the barmaid, pointing at his own drink and signaling for another. She nodded.

“Have a seat.”

Draco sat, looking Potter up and down as he did so. _He_ hadn’t remained in his teaching robes, but rather was wearing tight black jeans and a purple jumper, whose sleeves were rolled up partially, revealing the tan skin and taut, lean muscles of his forearms. The sight was distracting for some reason, and Draco found himself annoyed that Potter even owned jumpers that suited his coloring so well. He never remembered the old Potter having any taste.

And it made Draco feel very… frumpy in comparison. And _frumpy_ was not something Malfoys were ever supposed to feel.

What had he been thinking? Here was an opportunity to show off a sense of style that Potter could only hope for, and he had passed it up. For the sake of what? His mood soured further at the thought of his own shortsightedness.

He glanced at Potter to see that the man was looking at him expectantly, as though waiting for something, and he realized that Potter must have asked him a question.

“Sorry, what?” he said.

“I asked you how your classes were going.”

“Oh. They’re going fine.”

“Any favorites?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Do _you_ play favorites, Potter? For shame.”

Potter grinned. “Inside the castle walls, of course I don’t. But between you and me, sitting right here, sure. Every teacher does, at least a little.”

Draco sat back in his chair and looked the brunet over. It was a very Slytherin answer to give, and that… intrigued Draco more than he cared to admit.

 _It’s probably just Francesca rubbing off on him_ , he thought, which brought up a whole series of images he didn’t want of them “rubbing” in various positions. He scrubbed them quickly from his mind.

“I’m quite enjoying my NEWT students,” he admitted.

Potter nodded. “Yes, it is nice when the less dedicated get weeded out and you’re left with those who actually want to be there.”

“True,” Draco found himself agreeing, “but there are also a few 4th and 5th years who are showing a lot of promise, Miss McNeal included.”

“Lucky you,” Potter replied. “McNeal’s good, yes, but my other 4th years are making me mental right now. They think they know everything already.”

“I’m having the same experience with my 3rd years.”

Potter hummed sympathetically. “Cheeky little prats, they are,” he said with a wry smile.

“Which, of course, we never were,” replied Draco, realizing he was mirroring Potter’s expression with his own.

“Oh, yes,” Potter agreed, suddenly solemn. “We were model students, you and I.”

Draco snorted in amusement and then bit his lip. _No_ , he would not enjoy himself, or laugh with Potter about anything, especially not their past.

The barmaid approached and placed Draco's firewhiskey in front of him, and the blond was glad for the distraction. When he'd thanked the barmaid and taken a sip of his drink, he decided it was time to steer the conversation back to the more recent past.

“How long have you been at Hogwarts?”

“Five years now. So this will be my sixth.”

Draco did the maths in his head. “You started here at twenty? That’s quite young for a professorship, isn’t it?” Draco hadn’t even finished his Potions mastery until he was twenty-one.

Potter shrugged. “It was lucky happenstance that there was an opening, and I already had the prerequisite experience. I was an Auror for a couple of years, you know.”

“I see. You started training right after the war?”

The brunet nodded. “I had the summer to recover, attend all the, you know… funerals.” He took a sip of his drink. “And there were the trials of course. By the time August rolled around I was well ready to _do_ something with myself. Luckily the Academy was willing to accept me and Ron both without the required NEWTs.”

Draco suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Potter and Weasley had received special treatment. That was hardly a surprise.

“But you left?”

Potter nodded again. “I didn’t like it as much as I thought I would. The first few months, after training, the Ministry was focusing on rounding up the last of the Death Eaters, and that was rather satisfying. Like tying up loose ends, you know?” Draco caught himself nodding as Potter spoke, and checked himself. “But after that, with new cases… I don’t know. We’d catch one criminal and there’d still be a dozen more waiting to be caught. It was never going to end. And it was always about catching and punishing someone _after_ bad things had happened. I started to… well, honestly, I started to get a bit depressed.”

“And that’s when you decided to leave?” Draco realized he was leaning in with his elbows resting on the table, and pulled back a bit, not wanting to appear too engrossed.

“I was thinking about it, and then Minerva contacted me about the DADA post that had just opened up, and it seemed like… a sign, I suppose. I really liked the idea of teaching, and it was a way to focus on the future, not the past. It was an opportunity to shape the new generation, affect real change, you know?”

Draco was nodding again. He did know. “How did Weasley take it?” he asked, out of pure curiosity.

“He was… disappointed, I guess,” said Potter. “We’d always planned to be partners, once we had enough experience to work on our own. But he also understood. And Hermione was very supportive. They could both see the toll it was taking on me.” He took another sip of whiskey. “When I got to Hogwarts, I felt better within weeks. It was really incredible. Helping young people…” He laughed softly. “Perhaps it sounds… daft to say it this way, but it feeds something in me, something I’ve never gotten anywhere else.” He bit his lip, his cheeks a bit pink, and Draco couldn’t stop himself from thinking that the expression was rather… endearing, for its vulnerability. Merlin help him. “And the staff was brilliant as well. They were all just so happy that Hogwarts was open and whole again.”

“Yes, I imagine that was rather… heartening,” Draco said, trying not to cringe at his own word choice. It seemed like a very _Gryffindor_ type word to use.

“It was. Although it still seemed… newer then, I suppose, fresh. You could tell which parts had been rebuilt. Now the castle seems like it’s old self.”

“I noticed that.”

“Was this your first time being back since the war?”

Draco nodded. “I didn’t really have any reason to come back, until now.”

“You didn’t finish your NEWTs here? I thought maybe you had.”

“No, I finished my education at home.” Apparently, Potter had forgotten that all three Malfoys had been under house arrest for that first year, and Draco had not been given the option to return to Hogwarts. Not that he’d really wanted to. It was better, in the end, to be hidden from the world for a little while and wait for the backlash and dislike of the Malfoys to subside. “I took the NEWTs independently, then went on and did my Potions mastery.”

“That’s, like, apprenticing, right?”

“Essentially. And I did some of my own research as well, of course.”

“Is that what you wanted to do, research and experiment with potions?”

“I considered it. And I did a little, after I finished my mastery, but I never published anything. It never got that far.”

“You lost interest?” Potter’s expression was merely curious as he looked at Draco over his drink.

“I got married,” Draco said, surprising himself. “And that… distracted me, you could say, from my work.” It had actually been incredible, how easy it was to slip into the routine of being married and become more and more distant from his academic interests. Draco had hit it off with Astoria surprisingly quickly, given that the marriage was arranged. But from the beginning he had enjoyed spending time with her, going out to parties and events with her, making love to her. She _seemed_ to enjoy him as well, at least at the time. But that, he later learned, had been an elaborate ruse. She’d been sleeping with Blaise the whole time.

Draco saw Potter glance rather conspicuously at Draco’s lack of wedding ring, and he smirked. “I’m not married anymore,” he told the Gryffindor drily. “Obviously.”

“I had wondered,” said Potter. His smile turned mischievous. “Or really, Francesca had wondered, and she told me about it. She’d thought she’d heard something about you being married, but then she noticed you weren’t wearing a ring.”

“And you and Professor Bianchi were discussing my personal life why?” Draco asked.

Potter laughed. “I thought that was obvious. Francesca fancies you.” He shrugged in reaction to Draco’s impassive stare. “Seems obvious to me, at any rate.”

Draco furrowed his brow, confused. “I had thought… perhaps… you and she…”

Potter nearly choked on his whiskey, and he put the glass down, laughing. “Me and Francesca?” he asked incredulously.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Draco replied haughtily. “Is it really that absurd, the notion of dating a Slytherin?”

“It’s not that,” said Potter. “It’s just… you know… she’s a _woman_. Not exactly my type.”

Draco stared at Potter in increasing confusion.

Potter’s face registered some confusion of his own, before it dissolved into amusement. “I’m gay,” he said.

Draco had no other option but to keep staring. Shock and surprise were zipping through him rapidly, followed not far behind by a strange, sweet thrill of pleasure that he really didn’t want to examine too closely.

Potter was gay? Potter was… _gay_? Since when?

“Sorry,” the brunet said, fighting a smile at Draco’s stunned silence, and not really looking very sorry at all. “I assumed you knew.”

“And why would I know something like that?”

“Just about everyone else does. The press had an absolute field day when I first came out. Which was years ago, by the way, when I was still an Auror. And the _Prophet_ still likes to report when I’m spotted out on a date, although thankfully it’s not front page news anymore.”

“I haven’t read the _Prophet_ in years,” Draco said. “Or much media at all.” None of the papers had been particularly kind to the Malfoys after the war, and Draco had quickly learned to just ignore them. Apparently it had become such an ingrained habit that he had completely missed this very… interesting (intriguing, even) piece of information.

Draco rather wished he had known this sooner, although what it would have actually gained him, he didn’t know.

“Well, there you are, then,” said Potter. “I like men. Exclusively.”

“But you dated girls at Hogwarts. I remember you at least pairing up with the youngest Weasley for a while.”

“Yes, I did, sixth year,” said Potter, his smile somewhat sheepish. “I thought… well, the idea that I could be gay didn’t cross my mind at all, back then, to tell you the truth. And I always cared about Ginny, and I sort of confused protective, brotherly feelings for romantic ones. Sex wasn’t much on my mind at all, at the time, which I recognize is odd for a teenage boy. But I _did_ have some other things going on, as you may remember. Voldemort took a lot of my focus.”

That actually made quite a bit of sense to Draco. He’d thought plenty about sex in his adolescence, but _his_  sixth year, the year he became a Death Eater and was supposed to kill Albus Dumbledore, his hormones had taken a backseat to outright terror. And, considering the Dark Lord had been terrorizing Potter in some form through most of his Hogwarts years, it only stood to reason that the young Potter might have been similarly diverted.

“You’re not going to go running for the door now, are you?” Potter asked him, still sounding amused. “Because surely you know better than to think I asked you for drinks with romantic overtures in mind. The invitation was strictly platonic.”

Draco arched a brow, deciding that if Potter could make light of it, so could he. “Now I’m sitting here wondering if I should be insulted. I’m not good enough for the Great Harry Potter, then?”

“Not _gay_ enough for the Great Harry Potter, I would think,” Potter replied.

“And just how _gay_ do you like them?” Draco asked. The firewhiskey had loosened his tongue perhaps a bit too much, but he was definitely enjoying himself, and that was something.

“Oh, I have a… broad range of tastes,” Potter quipped, grinning widely now. “So if I’m wrong about you, by all means, enlighten me.” He winked.

Draco looked away, fighting a smile. “So who is the lucky wizard then?” he asked, making sure to infuse his tone with enough irony to make it clear he hardly thought anyone who ended up with Potter was _actually_ lucky. “Surely the Great Harry Potter already has a lover.”

Potter chewed on his bottom lip, his green eyes glinting behind those delicate spectacles. “I don’t have… _a_ lover, really.”

Draco stared at him, trying to figure out what that odd word emphasis meant. Then it clicked. “More than one?” he asked archly.

“A fair few.” Potter downed the rest of his drink.

“Well, well, well, this _is_ interesting,” Draco admitted. “The Great Harry Potter sleeps around.”

Potter’s mouth formed the beginnings of a frown, but his eyes were still glinting too much for him to be truly upset. Then he smiled. “Yes.” He leaned forward. “But it’s all very above board, you know. All of my partners know we’re not exclusive, and they see other people as well. We’re all clear with each other, and we’re careful. I’m no liar, and I’m no cheat.”

“Never said you were,” Draco replied, because while the tone of the conversation was still light, he could tell that Potter was serious about that last bit. Serious enough that if Draco pushed too far, he could really upset the man.

And he found he really didn’t want to do that. Maybe it was the warmth of the firewhiskey talking, but… there it was.

“So how many is a ‘fair few,’ if you don’t mind me asking?” Potter was loose-lipped at the moment, and Draco didn’t see the harm in prying further, so long as he was careful.

“It depends. They sort of come and go,” said Potter, glancing up and to the right as if doing maths in his head. “I date less during the school year, for obvious reasons. Usually there are… maybe three or four that I see on occasion. During the summer I go out multiple times a week, so it’s a bit more than that.”

“A bit more?”

“Like, twice as many.”

“And you’re content with the press just… reporting on all of that.”

Potter chuckled darkly. “They report on the wizards I date. But I also date a lot of Muggles, and the press doesn’t know about those.”

“Hmm,” Draco said, looking at Potter with new eyes. This wasn’t what he expected at all.

“It works for me now,” he said, as if answering a question Draco has asked. “I think I’ve earned the right to have a little fun, and do what I like to do. I know wizarding Britain, including many of my friends, would be happier if I settled down, got married, started a family. But it’s not their life; it’s mine. And I’m not ready for that yet. I like keeping my options open. I like focusing on my teaching and spending time with the people who know me best. I haven’t met a partner I trust that much yet, to really make them a part of my life. But I also like sex. So…”

“It works for you.”

“Exactly.” He glanced down at Draco’s empty glass. “What do you say, then? Another round?”

Draco hesitated. He’d agreed to one drink, and he’d fulfilled that agreement. But… he was having a surprisingly good time. He had expected Potter to turn out sanctimonious and straight-laced, the good little Gryffindor that did what people expected of him, that had a wife and a family or was on his way to having one. That Potter would have been hard to be around, succeeding in all the ways Draco had failed. But _this_ Potter… he was free, unburdened, and refreshingly… _himself_. This Potter was one he could tolerate, even enjoy.

He pushed his glass towards the brunet, who had already stood and was watching him expectantly. “Sure. Another round.”


	3. Lesson 3: The Benefits of Eavesdropping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Explicit content ahead! So it begins... Although, to be honest, the smut in this chapter makes me laugh more than it makes me hot and bothered. Or maybe both? Can smut do that? I don't know, you tell me. You gave me such wonderful comments last chapter and I'd love to know what you think of this one too :)
> 
> Be aware that while this is slash there is a brief hetero scene about halfway through the chapter. It's not "real," just a wanking fantasy, but it is pretty graphic content-wise. If it's not your thing you can skim it, but it's relevant to the plot (as relevant as masturbatory fantasies can be, at any rate), so it stays. After this, it's all guy-on-guy, I promise.
> 
> It's also apparently a hallmark of my work that characters have important revelations through the convenient plot device of accidental voyeurism. *sighs heavily* My humblest apologies. Excuse me while I go have an existential crisis and question all my talents.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the chapter anyway!

“Draco, are you all right?”

Draco started and turned towards the voice, only to find that Francesca had sat herself beside him. He smiled at her absently.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Your elbow’s nearly in your eggs.”

Draco looked down to see that she was right. Lost in thought, he’d apparently rested his elbow on the table and just barely missed his breakfast plate in the process.

“I was just… thinking, I suppose.”

“About what?” the witch asked.

“My… lesson for my 5th years today,” he lied.

In truth, he’d been thinking about Potter. Or the drinks with Potter. Or really… how he felt _after_ the drinks with Potter, the following day.

In the moment he had been quite relaxed. After Potter ordered them more firewhiskey, the conversation turned back to Hogwarts and the staff, and they’d entertained themselves with some recent gossip before naturally venturing into a discussion on the merits of teaching theory versus practicum, about which Potter was surprisingly opinionated and knowledgeable. Somehow, though Draco couldn’t remember how, exactly, this led into the topic of Quidditch and the school teams, which then led to a heated debate over whether it was the Falcons or the Harpies who were currently the best in the league.

When they’d finished their second drinks they’d walked back up to Hogwarts together and parted ways in the entrance hall after exchanging friendly goodbyes. Draco had gone to bed feeling just slightly tipsy and more content than he had been in a long time.

By the light of morning, though, he started to doubt himself. He’d spent an evening out with Harry Potter of all people, and he’d _smiled_ , and even laughed, and talked about himself, and listened to Potter talk about himself… and remained genuinely interested throughout the whole endeavor.

On top of that he’d… _flirted_ with Potter. At least, he was pretty sure he had. It didn’t seem much like flirting at the time. It had felt natural, and he honestly hadn’t been thinking much about what he was saying. Looking back on it, though, he definitely thought it could be misconstrued that way. He’d blushed, and grinned, and looked away demurely, and let the tone of his voice get all deep and suggestive.

Did he give Potter the false impression that Draco could be interested in him… sexually?

Gods, he hoped not. That would be utterly humiliating.

He’d only managed to calm down once he remembered the way they’d left things that night. There’d been no awkward standing around in the entrance hall, seeing if the night would continue, no wondering if one was going to invite the other back to their quarters. As soon as they entered the castle Potter had clapped him on the shoulder and said, “That was fun, Malfoy. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

And Draco had nodded and said, “Sure. Have a good night.” And that was that. They’d made for separate staircases and returned to each of their rooms alone.

Since then, Potter had certainly been friendly, as he made it clear he would be, greeting Draco most mornings and asking how he was, or stopping by his classroom if he was passing and Draco had a free period. But Potter didn’t appear to be attempting anything untoward. He was just being Potter.

Draco shook himself and reminded himself to stop being so paranoid. He had better things to do, like pay attention to Francesca, who was in the middle of saying something about the Slytherin Quidditch team. He latched onto enough words to glean that they’d finally found a new Seeker.

“Took long enough,” Draco remarked. “I was wondering why Flint hadn’t filled the position in the first round of tryouts.”

“He was hoping Gaines would be recovered from his summer injury already,” the brunette told him, picking around in her eggs. “I tried to tell him at the start of term that it wasn’t worth the risk, but he was very stubborn about it.”

“I don’t know Gaines. He’s not doing a Potions NEWT, it seems.”

Francesca shook her head, smirking. “He doesn’t have the… academic aptitude for it, one could say.”

Draco chuckled and saw Francesca’s shapely olive cheeks pink slightly, her smirk melting into a small smile. He was reminded forcefully of another interesting piece of information he’d learned while out with Potter: apparently, the Italian-born pureblood fancied him.

 _That_ was the sort of thing he ought to be thinking about, not whether or not he was technically flirting or not flirting with Potter over firewhiskey (it was really just a question of semantics, anyway), but rather what possibilities a connection with Francesca could open up for him.

***

Potter still managed to keep himself fresh in Draco’s thoughts however, as the two of them were talking regularly. Every time they did, whether it was a more in-depth conversation during lunch or a brief bit of small talk in the hallway, the interactions lingered with Draco long afterwards as he replayed them in his head.

 _I’m just adjusting to having to be around him so much,_ he told himself. _Eventually the idea won’t be so novel anymore and I’ll stop fixating on it._

Yes, that was what would happen. He just needed time. And until then, he would keep his cool and focus on other things.

Easier said than done, naturally. When Potter sought him out that Friday, once classes were finished for the day, Draco suppressed a sigh and wondered what he was in for now.

“Afternoon, Malfoy,” Potter greeted him with a smile.

“Potter,” Draco replied. “What brings you here? Come to drag me along for more drinks so you can talk my ear off about the Harpies again? Still think you can sway my loyalties?”

Potter grinned. “No. I recognize that as a lost cause already. Besides which, this weekend is a full one for me.”

Draco felt his insides deflate a little in disappointment, and then he felt irritated for feeling disappointed. “Oh?”

“Yep. I’ve got patrol tonight, and then tomorrow night I have a date.”

“Ah.” Right, Potter’s fluctuating roster of lovers. He’d nearly forgotten. “Wizard or Muggle, this time?”

“Wizard.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Maybe. He was a Ravenclaw a couple of years below us. Callum Foster?”

Draco searched his memory. “Never heard of him.”

Potter shrugged. “We’ve only been out a couple of times.”

“And what do you do on these dates? You know, besides the obvious.” He smirked, and Potter mirrored him.

“During the school year it’s usually just dinner or drinks. During the summer, it varies. Sometimes it’s live music, or the cinema, or a picnic or something.”

“Picnics?”

“Sure, why not? Who doesn’t enjoy a good picnic?” said Potter lightly. He grinned again. “Besides, you put up strong enough privacy charms, you can get away with a lot, even in a city park in the middle of the afternoon.”

Draco paused, a series of images hurtling across his mind’s eye without his consent. Still, he found himself more amused than anything.

“That’s what’s you’re into, then?” he asked drily. “A little exhibitionism? Or a risk of it?”

Potter shrugged. “I sometimes have partners who are,” he said nonchalantly. “I have partners who are into a lot of different things.”

“And what are _you_ into?” Draco asked, immediately regretting it. He sounded way too curious about Potter’s sex life.

But the Gryffindor just frowned in thought and said, “Making sure my partners are having a good time, I suppose.” His face suddenly split into a wide – and undeniably carnal – smile. “That, and making them beg for me.”

Draco swallowed. _And what exactly do you do to make them beg?_

No. He was not going to ask that question aloud. Not on his life.

Potter watched him with an arched brow. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked finally.

Draco cleared his throat as delicately as he could and said, “No, you’re not.”

“Some straight men get a little… uneasy around the thought of two men sleeping together.”

“Well, I don’t,” Draco said. “I’m not a homophobe.”

“It wouldn’t make you a homophobe,” Potter pointed out. “It might just be because you’re unfamiliar-“

“It’s not making me uncomfortable, Potter,” Draco interrupted. “I asked, didn’t I? No need to tip-toe around me.”

Potter hesitated, then nodded. “All right.” There was a short but awkward silence, where Potter rubbed the back of his neck and Draco shuffled the papers around on his desk. “Well, anyway,” Potter said finally. “I’m not around for drinks tonight. But I bet there are a number of professors who’d be up for a night out.”

“Mm, I’m sure you’re right.”

“You could ask Francesca. I’m sure she would say yes.”

Draco eyed him. Why did he keep pushing the witch on him? Maybe Francesca had asked him to. Maybe she liked Draco even more than he realized.

“Perhaps,” Draco said neutrally.

Potter chuckled. “All right, all right, I get the message. I’ll back off. I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of finding your own dates.”

Draco watched him again, looking for any sign of irony, but Potter seemed sincere.

“I’ll think about it,” he offered. “Although I did just collect an essay from my 3rd years this afternoon, so I have a fair bit of marking to do.”

“All right.”

“Was there anything else? Did you want to maybe give me advice on my investment portfolio? Or maybe you wanted to suggest what I should have for dinner. Or what color socks I should wear tomorrow.”

Potter chuckled again. “I solemnly vow to leave all that to you and stop prying into your life.”

“A Gryffindor who can take a hint. Who knew?”

“A Slytherin with a sense of humor. What a concept,” Potter riposted, and Draco had to laugh.

They stood there a moment. “ _Was_ there anything else, Potter?”

“No,” Potter said sheepishly. “I’ll, uh… leave you to your essays, then.”

“All right. Enjoy your patrol tonight. Are you on the late shift or the early shift?” Nightly teacher duties were always split into two shifts, one that started after dinner and went until two in the morning, and the other that started at two and ended at eight, when the castle was fully awake. It was designed to keep the staff from having to stay up all night and miss too much sleep.

“The late shift, thank Merlin,” Potter replied. “I always prefer staying up late to getting up early.”

“Me too,” Draco agreed. “Although that shift is when you catch the most students sneaking around, as I understand it. So keep a weather eye open for thoughtless pranks and awkward snogging.”

Potter laughed. “Constant vigilance,” he said, which was vaguely familiar to Draco, though he couldn’t place from where. “I’ll see you later, Malfoy.”

“Yeah, see you.”

It wasn’t until Potter was well gone that Draco realized he’d told him to enjoy his patrol, but not his date the next night, which, now that he thought about it, was sort of… odd.

Not that it meant anything, of course.

***

That night, Draco found he couldn’t sleep, even though he’d spent the entire evening marking essays, just like he told Potter he was going to do, until his eyelids were drooping.

He had considered asking Francesca for drinks, he really had. He’d had a fleeting thought about it, at least. But the idea had been… unpalatable, probably because he was so burnt out from a long week.

Yes, that must be it. He would do it next weekend.

He would consider it, at the very least. Maybe.

 _For Merlin’s sake_ , he admonished himself. _She fancies you. What are you waiting for?_ An opportunity this good, with someone like her, didn’t come up very often. So why was he dragging his feet, acting like the timid schoolboy? He was a grown man with a healthy libido and plenty of talent for pleasing a lover.

Or, he used to be. His libido, in actuality, had been a bit… defective lately. That was undoubtedly thanks to his ex-wife and the fact that he apparently hadn’t provided her enough sexual satisfaction to stop her from seeking it elsewhere, a failure that, his father assured him, was quite unbefitting of a Malfoy.

He’d love to get some release, even if it was just a nice, leisurely wank alone in the privacy of his bedroom, but for months every time he thought of sex he thought of _her_ , of the sex they used to have, of how good it felt to believe he was pleasing her and how powerful he felt when he believed he had impregnated her.

But they had been false beliefs, and having them ripped away so suddenly, so… painfully, had left him feeling impotent. Quite literally.

 _I just have to think of something else, some_ one _else,_ he thought. If he could find a way to disentangle thoughts of sex from thoughts of Astoria, maybe he could actually enjoy sex again.

 _Just think of a woman,_ he told himself, _completely the opposite of her. Someone dark, curvy, exotic-looking._ Francesca actually fit the bill quite nicely.

Perfect. Wanking over Francesca might kickstart a sexual interest in her, and then maybe he would finally get around to asking her out.

He tried to picture her naked as he reached down into his pajama bottoms. As he played with his bollocks and started to stroke his cock into life he imagined the tan skin of her stomach, bare before him, her strong thighs, and full breasts with pert, hard nipples heaving under his touch. And her pussy, with a little tuft of dark pubic hair, the inner lips already glistening for him.

His cock twitched into semi-tumescence, and he smiled. _That’s more like it_. He groaned as he began to pump it gently and he felt it fill and harden.

_Yes, that’s it. Thank Merlin, yes._

Back to the fantasy. What was he going to do to her first? Use his mouth. That’s what he wanted to do. He would make her mewl and cry his name. He would make her come, absolutely gushing for him, and then he would enter her.

“Fuck yes,” he said aloud. It was working. He conjured some lube with his wand so he could start beating off in earnest, enjoying the new slickness on the surface of his sensitive skin.

He imagined putting his mouth to her, right below her bellybutton. Her stomach muscles would be strong under his lips. He would lick, tasting the salt of her skin, teasing at the edge of her most erogenous zone and making her gasp. But he wouldn’t go lower, not yet. She was going to have to beg for that. Instead he would trail upward, dipping his tongue into her navel before traveling higher, up past her ribs to the naked globes of her tits. He’d run his hands along the undersides, where the skin was softest, and then he’d slide his knuckles across a nipple, making her buck under him. He’d do it again, grinning, then pinch until she cried out.

_Draco!_

“That’s it,” he whispered into the air, the pleasure in his cock building as he stroked and stroked it.

In his mind his mouth had latched on, sucking gently and then licking the hardened nub. All the while his other hand crept down, starting to tease along her pubic hair. He’d thought he’d take the time to go down on her, but now he was thinking he’d hurry this along. He wanted to enter her, feel the strong muscles of her pussy pull him in and embrace him fully.

The smooth belly under his hand bulged a moment, strangely, and Draco paused. _What?_

_Don’t get distracted. Return to Francesca. Think about that wet pussy waiting for you._

Yet in his mind’s eye there was a rounded stomach pressing against him now, and the nipple between his fingers was wet with milk. Francesca’s hair flashed blond, flickering as he tried to reclaim the image of the brunette.

_No. No no no no no. Not her._

His erection was flagging, and he pumped it furiously.

_Get back to Francesca, where you want to be._

But he couldn’t. He was looming over Astoria again instead, like he had countless times before, waiting to enter her. She was gasping beneath him, her small, pink mouth parted as she stared up at him with pale, blue, innocent eyes. She pushed against him impatiently, and he felt that swollen belly again, carrying his child.

_Not yours, remember?_

His erection was gone, but the image of her remained, burned onto the backs of his eyelids.

He’d spent too much time worshipping Astoria’s body when they were married, even during her pregnancy. He knew every inch of it. It seemed, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he could never truly imagine anyone else.

He grabbed one of the extra pillows beside him on the bed, put it over his face, and screamed into it.

***

Draco was in a dark mood the next morning. The point of trying to wank was to relax him, yet the failed attempt had the opposite effect, and now he was on edge and annoyed with everyone.

Luckily it was a Saturday, and he could stay well out of the way of most people in the castle. He made a special point of avoiding Francesca, who he couldn’t even look at anymore.

Part of him (the part that sounded vaguely like his father) thought he should be more tenacious with his little problem and face it head on. How better to remove images of Astoria than by replacing them with someone else? If he could spend enough time with Francesca, get to know her, discover all the ways she was undoubtedly wonderful, who was to say he wouldn’t forget all about his ex-wife?

But another part of him (the part that sounded the most like himself) suspected that he wouldn’t be able to follow through. There was a chance that, when the time came, he wouldn’t be able to perform, and that would only pile more humiliation on top of what he’d already experienced. It wasn’t just sex he was worried about either. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to connect, that he wouldn’t be able to meet her where she was, emotionally or physically. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to even try.

 _And she deserves better than that_ , said yet another part of him (who sounded vaguely like Potter, annoyingly).

So he avoided her, and Potter, and just about everyone, continuing the marking of his 3rd year essays and having lunch in his quarters.

He was on the late shift for patrol that night, though, which meant he was expected at dinner and to start walking the corridors promptly at eight. Curfew wasn’t until ten o’clock, but students were certainly capable of getting up to unauthorized activities before then. It was not uncommon for young couples, especially those in inter-house relationships, to try and find a quiet alcove after dinner to get to know each other better.

Luckily the deviant behavior was kept to a minimum that night. Draco was glad, as he found he didn’t actually enjoy docking points or sending students to detention, even if they weren’t Slytherin. It hadn’t been so back in fifth year, when he was on Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad. But he could readily admit to having quite a mean streak back then, which the war had stamped out of him pretty thoroughly. He eventually learned that cruelty was never a game. He knew firsthand what real cruelty really was.

It had many forms.

It was late and he was thinking longingly of bed. He hadn’t slept much the night before, and it was taking its toll now. He checked his watch and saw that he had only a little over a half hour to go before Sinistra would relieve him. _Thank Merlin._

He was just turning down the Defense corridor when he heard something behind him. It was distant, almost inaudible, but it sounded like someone talking.

 _Could be Filch_ , he reminded himself. The man still liked to add extra patrols many evenings, and did so with his cat, Mrs. Norris, who he talked to more than he ever talked to other people. But then he heard laughing, and then someone else making a “shhhh” sound, and he knew it wasn’t Filch. The man never laughed.

He walked back the way he had come, toward the noise. He wasn’t far from the entrance to Gryffindor tower, and he suspected that a couple of students were in the process of sneaking out. He withdrew his wand, just in case, but didn’t yet cast _Lumos_ , as that would give him away. He wanted the element of surprise.

“We’re almost there. Keep quiet.” The whisper was clear enough that Draco heard it perfectly. He was close.

He rounded the corner and froze, taking in the sight before him. They weren’t students at all. It was two grown men.

One of them was Harry Potter.

The other was a brunet that Draco didn’t know. He was shorter than Potter by a couple of inches, and thinner. He had a long face and a wide smile that was directed purely at the Gryffindor, who had his hand clamped around the other wizard’s wrist and was leading him down the corridor.

Draco lurked in the shadows, waiting for them to pass. He knew what he was seeing now. This was the end of Potter’s date. The man with him was likely Callum Foster, the Ravenclaw Potter had mentioned. It appeared that Potter was taking Foster to his quarters, which would of course be near Gryffindor tower, as Potter was their head of house. He was taking his date home for sex.

 _If only it was that simple for me_ , Draco thought bitterly. If only he could go out and meet someone who just fancied a shag and nothing more, who wanted sex without the baggage.

_And was someone I actually wanted to shag._

Merlin, Draco’s baggage was far too heavy at the moment. It would be nice to set it down for a little while.

Yet still he watched, morbidly curious about Potter’s apparent sexual prowess. Foster certainly seemed infatuated. He kept pinning Potter to the wall and snogging him passionately, at one point narrowly missing toppling over a suit of armor.

“Watch out,” Potter warned him with a hiss, sounding slightly put out. Draco had to suppress a snicker. Foster was quite enthusiastic, almost absurdly so, and Potter appeared to be merely putting up with it rather than enjoying it. But then, Potter had run the risk of taking a date back to Hogwarts, and he didn’t want to get caught. So perhaps he was just being cautious.

“I can’t help it, Harry,” Foster gasped. “I want you.”

Potter chuckled. “I know,” he replied, grabbing the other wizard’s backside and giving it a firm squeeze “Don’t worry. I’ll be pounding that fine arse soon enough, just like I promised.”

Foster moaned, his tongue slipping into Potter’s mouth. They snogged for a minute more while Draco watched, fascinated.

“Let me suck your cock first,” Foster said when their mouths parted. “Please.”

Potter tilted his chin and appeared to be considering the request, as if he wasn’t sure he would grant it.

“Please, Harry,” the other wizard breathed desperately. “I want your cock in my mouth so bad. I’ve been thinking about it all night.”

“All night?” Potter said, arching a brow.

“All week,” Foster corrected.

Draco had to bite down on his hand to keep from laughing aloud. Potter was some kind of genius, that much was apparent. How else did he get this wizard so hot and desperate he was begging to _give_ oral sex, not receive it?

In addition to being amused, Draco was also, he had to admit to himself, a bit turned on. Foster’s wanton whore act had the potential to be annoying, but if Draco were in Potter’s shoes, he might find himself enjoying it.

 _He’s probably rock hard right now in anticipation,_ Draco speculated, and _that_ idea made _Draco_ rather hard as well, come to think of it.

 _I really need to get laid_ , he told himself. Living vicariously through Potter should _not_ be how he got his kicks. Of that he was absolutely certain.

Especially since he was watching something that, as a straight man, shouldn’t have turned him on at all.

 _Just visual stimulus_ , he told himself. _Two fit people about to make each other come? Anyone would have this reaction._

“Let me do it right here,” Foster was saying now.

“Right here?” Potter’s voice was laced with faux innocence. “Where anyone could catch us?”

Foster nodded fervently. “That’s how bad I want it, Harry. I can’t wait. I’d risk McGonagall seeing us, even, if it meant I got to suck you.”

Draco resisted the urge to snort. Potter had mentioned some of his partners were into exhibitionism. Apparently Foster was one of them.

Potter grabbed Foster’s mousy brown locks in his fingers and pulled, jerking his head back a little. Foster whimpered. Draco couldn’t see his face from that angle, but he guessed he was staring up at Potter pleadingly as Potter looked down at him, his face almost… hard, but also assessing. There was a scorching heat in his eyes, though, that was hard to mistake.

“You want it that bad, eh?” he asked, his voice soft and dangerous. His mouth tightened a moment. “Then do it,” he said, his tone as hard as the lines of his jaw. “Suck my cock, right here, in the corridor, where anyone can see.” He leaned in, nipping at Foster’s jaw. “Maybe someone _will_ catch us, and they’ll be so turned on at the sight of you swallowing my cock that they’ll have to join in.”

Foster began to unbuckle Potter’s belt, moaning as Potter kept talking.

“Or maybe they’ll be too shy. Maybe they’ll just watch, and touch themselves. Maybe they’ll bring themselves off, making sure they come right when I shoot my load down your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Foster dropped to his knees, indicating just how much he would like it.

 _Oh shit,_ Draco realized. _This is really going to happen_. He hadn’t thought it actually would. He thought it was a game, a way for Foster to rile them up and get them primed for fucking. He hadn’t thought Potter would actually take this kind of risk.

Apparently, he had thought wrong.

But then, as Foster was fumbling with Potter’s fly and pulling down his jeans, Draco noticed that Potter had his wand in his hand, tucked behind his back. He saw the tip of the wand shimmer, out of Foster’s sight, and understood that Potter was nonverbally putting up some privacy charms after all.

Good, so he wasn’t stupid.

But something was off. Draco could still hear Foster’s heavy breathing and see him pull down Potter’s pants, freeing the straining erection within. If Potter had cast a Silencing Charm and a Notice-Me-Not, Draco shouldn’t be able to see or hear them.

 _The charms didn’t work_ , he thought with panic. _And I’m about to watch Harry Potter receive a blowjob._ He snuck a glance at the sizeable cock in front of Foster’s face and swallowed as he saw the Ravenclaw kiss and then lick the tip, making Potter gasp.

 _I should not be watching this,_ he told himself. He was rock hard now, and undeniably curious, but… he shouldn’t. Potter had tried to put up those charms for a reason. He didn’t actually want anyone to see.

Draco forced himself to turn away, but was immediately met with a barrier of magic he didn’t expect. He covered his mouth to stop himself from crying out in surprise.

 _What in Merlin’s name…?_ But then it clicked. Potter hadn’t put up charms. He’d put up _wards_. He’d warded the corridor so no one could pass through this way. Draco could feel the barrier pushing on him, encouraging him to back away.

 _Smart,_ Draco thought. Wards were more effective than privacy charms, which could break easily. They did require casting over a larger area, which was why Potter had done the whole corridor. But they were also powerful. They would keep anyone out.

There was one problem now, though. Draco was trapped inside the wards, at least until Potter lifted them. Potter would likely feel it if someone else tried to break through, if he was as good at this kind of magic as he appeared to be. Draco wasn’t about to risk it.

 _I just have to wait it out_. He could do that. He just wouldn’t look. Or listen.

There was panting and groaning behind him, and sounds of licking.

“You love my cock, don’t you?” he heard Potter ask. Draco clenched his teeth and closed his eyes.

_I will not look. I absolutely will not look._

Foster moaned, though it was muffled, as if his mouth was full.

_Sweet Merlin._

“That’s so good, Callum,” Potter said, his voice dark and hypnotic. “Gods, look how much you can take.”

There was a slurping sound, and Potter groaned.

“Oh, fuck,” he said. “Oh, fuck, yes. That’s it, Callum. Take it all. What a good boy you are.”

Draco turned. He couldn’t help it. He had to know just how good a boy Callum Foster really was.

He stifled a gasp, his hand going automatically to his cock, which had throbbed almost painfully in reaction to what he was seeing.

Potter was fucking Foster’s face, his arse muscles flexing as he moved in and out and his hand gripping Foster’s hair again. He wasn’t going hard, but he was definitely in control. Foster was wide-mouthed and welcoming every thrust, moaning as if this was exactly where he wanted to be, pumping his own cock furiously as he sucked and sucked.

All of that was arousing. All of that would be enough to make Draco come with a few strokes of his erection, just from watching.

But Potter’s _face_ …

Draco had to grab the base of his cock, just in case. Because it was almost too much. Because Potter was… _smirking_. He was watching his cock disappear over and over inside Foster’s willing mouth while his lips twisted in the cockiest and most erotic smirk Draco had ever seen.

Potter looked like a man who could take anything he wanted. He looked like a man who was used to little twinks like Foster begging to go down on him. He looked like a man who could make his lovers come over and over and keep them crawling back like sex-crazed junkies itching for a fix.

He looked like a god.

Draco wanted to be him. He wanted to feel that powerful.

And there was also a part of him that thought it might be quite fun to be the one on his knees.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” said Potter. “Are you ready, baby? Are you ready to swallow everything I give you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Foster managed.

Draco licked his lips as he watched Potter’s thrusts slow in pace, as Foster held onto him and loosened his throat even more.

“I’m coming,” Potter announced. “Fuck, I’m coming! Oh, fuck, Callum! Yes!” The smirk was gone, replaced with a mouth gaping in pure bliss.

Draco’s grip on the base of his erection tightened. He refused to come in his pants watching this. He refused to fulfill the prediction Potter had made to Foster at the beginning, about what would happen if someone were really watching. He wouldn’t be that person.

It took a great deal of self-control. Because as Potter was spending himself inside Foster’s mouth, Foster was gripping onto Potter’s arse with one hand and holding firm, swallowing everything. The other hand had abandoned his own erection and was massaging Potter’s bollocks, milking every last drop.

Potter collapsed against the wall. “Gods, Callum,” he breathed. “That was incredible.”

“Glad you liked it,” Foster said demurely, standing. Potter grabbed him by the lapels of his stylish little blazer and kissed him thoroughly, like he wanted to taste himself on Foster’s tongue. One of Potter’s hands brushed Foster’s erection, which still bobbed out in the air, an angry, waiting red.

“You didn’t come,” Potter commented.

“I was waiting,” said Foster. “I want to come with you buried deep in my arse, like you promised.”

Potter chuckled. “You’re going to have to work me up again, you know.”

Foster smiled. “I know. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Come on.” Potter tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped his fly as Foster did the same. He took the Ravenclaw’s hand and walked them down the rest of the corridor, moving swiftly.

Draco felt the wards right behind him lift, but he waited until the sounds of footsteps were distant echoes before he started walking, still making sure to keep his footfalls soft.

He checked his watch. He was due back at the staff room to meet Sinistra, and he hurried himself along.

He was only a few minutes late, thankfully. Sinistra was already outside the staff room door, but she didn’t look as though she’d been waiting long.

“Sorry, lost track of the time,” Draco said.

Sinistra smiled. “That’s a first. Usually we’re counting down the minutes until we can get off shift.”

Draco laughed politely. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

“Anything I should know?” the witch asked.

“All quiet,” said Draco. “Hopefully it’s the same for you as well.”

“One can only hope,” the woman replied. “Sleep well.”

“I will, thanks.”

They parted ways, Sinistra to begin the patrol and Draco to his quarters.

He moved fast. He was in a bit of a hurry.

“ _Novus orsa,”_ he whispered to the brass knocker on his door. It swung open with a creak and he let himself inside, closing and locking it behind him.

 _Shower or bed?_ he considered as he quickly began to strip, removing is outer robes (which had successfully hidden his straining erection from Sinistra’s sight, thank Merlin) and then hurriedly started undoing the buttons of his shirt.

 _Bed_ , he soon decided. Otherwise he’d have to wait for the water in the shower to heat up, and he didn’t have that kind of time.

He swiftly removed his trousers and pants and, holding his wand in his hand, conjured some lube. It dripped onto the floor a little, but he didn’t care. He had his cock in his hand now, and it was pure pleasure.

His hand still gripping and stroking, he climbed onto his bed. He stayed on his knees, holding onto the headboard for balance, and began to find a rhythm.

It wouldn’t take long, he could already tell. And he had all the material he needed.

Pleasure surged in his cock as he pictured Foster on his knees, expertly swallowing Potter’s large erection. He pumped harder as he remembered the way Potter’s sculpted arse had flexed with each thrust, pushing that cock deep inside. He felt his orgasm build as he remembered Potter’s words.

_What a good boy you are. Look how much you can take._

And then he thought of Potter’s face, smirking and smirking, before the pleasure became too much and he cried out, just as the Potter in his mind was doing.

_I’m coming. Oh fuck, I’m coming!_

Ropes of cum hit the headboard in powerful bursts as Draco imagined he was Potter, emptying himself into Foster’s gaping mouth. The image sustained him as he rode it out, as a hand dropped to his sac and he massaged it, like Foster had done for Potter. There was so much cum, all that had built up, waiting to be released for months. The pleasure went on and on.

When he was finally spent, Draco paused a moment, breathing heavily, looking at his handiwork. Then he started laughing. He’d painted most of his headboard in streaks of white. And he’d done it while thinking about one man giving another a blowjob.

 _Well, this is interesting_. _This is very interesting indeed._

***

That Sunday was a day for rumination.

Draco had awoken feeling relaxed and languid, very different from previous mornings. He spent some time in bed simply thinking of the previous night, wondering if he should feel guilty, or horrified, and realizing that he felt neither. He hadn’t intended to stumble upon Potter with one of his paramours, and he certainly hadn’t intended to spy. But… frankly, he was rather glad he had, if only because it gave him the best wank of his life, not to mention an opportunity for release that might not have come otherwise (pun very much intended).

But what did it mean, he had to wonder now. Did it mean he could be interested in men? He had never believed sexuality to be that easy to define. He’d always appreciated beauty, and had gravitated towards socializing with men and women both who were pleasing to the eye. Did that mean he found men equally beautiful to women, enough that he would be content to have sex with either? He wasn’t sure. Mostly because he’d never considered the question. Being a pureblood man meant an obligation to marry a woman and produce an heir. It had been drilled into him so thoroughly that any other option was laughable. And since he’d never had trouble getting it up around a pretty girl before, he’d never questioned it.

Marry a respectable pureblood witch. Keep her satisfied. Produce an heir. That was his directive.

One he’d failed at miserably in every respect. Because he’d failed to produce an heir that was truly his, because he’d failed to keep his wife satisfied, leading her to have an affair.

And she obviously wasn’t all that respectable to begin with, considering she was willing to be adulterous.

For the first time since the divorce, Draco felt a heady sense of freedom in his failure. He’d already fallen about as far as it was possible for a pureblood to fall. What was the harm in shedding pureblood expectations altogether and choosing to be homosexual for a while?

That was, if he really wanted to. He still wasn’t really clear on that.

He had been sexually deprived and desperate for an orgasm when he watched Potter and Foster together. So it was possible that his arousal at watching Foster sucking Potter’s cock had merely been a byproduct of that deprivation and desperation. He had enjoyed himself the most imagining himself in Potter’s position. The idea of such an expert blowjob in itself was appealing. That didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to have sex with a man.

On the other hand, thoughts of a woman, no matter how different from Astoria, hadn’t managed to get him off after months of trying. But two men together… well…

 _What if I were in Foster’s position instead?_ he asked himself. _Would I want to suck another man’s cock?_

He tried to picture it in his mind’s eye. Kneeling before someone tall and muscular, with a defined abs and a supple arse fit for grabbing onto. _Not_ Potter, he specifically decided. That would just be too… strange. But a man perhaps much like Potter in many respects.

If he were kneeling in front of a man like that, with a hard, naked cock in front of him, would he want to suck on it?

Already half hard, he reached down to his own cock and began stroking himself, thinking about it.

***

It took him a couple of day to decide what he wanted to do about this revelation. But eventually he came to some important conclusions.

He wanted to try sleeping with men. Wanking was all well and good, but there were more satisfying ways to get off. And if he really could enjoy himself getting off with another man, why not do it? Potter had obviously managed to find himself some casual lovers. Why couldn’t Draco?

It was very likely that he could. Only... he didn’t know how to go about doing it. There were gay bars and clubs, and he supposed he could just waltz in and hope for the best, but he knew nothing about that world or what to expect. He knew little about gay sex or what other men were looking for.

He needed an expert, a mentor, a teacher. And, unfortunately, there was only one person in his life who fit the bill.

It took him another couple of days to convince himself that it would be worth approaching Potter about this.

The major obstacle was that it would require explaining himself to Potter, explaining his situation. Potter needed to know that Draco was new to the gay scene, which meant that he would have to explain to him why, at age 25, Draco had suddenly decided to start exploring this aspect of his sexuality. And that meant talking about his divorce and the psychological toll it had taken on him.

There was a chance Potter would laugh him out of the room. And there was no doubt that he would be giving his (former?) rival ammunition to use against him in the future, if he so chose.

On the other hand, Potter had that noble, hero complex thing going on, and there was also a chance that he would be perfectly considerate about it, then introduce Draco to a whole slew of fit men that could keep him satisfied for months.

And that thought made the risk entirely worth it.

He found Potter in his classroom, marking essays. The door was open, and Potter was focused enough that it wasn’t until Draco closed the classroom door and locked it with a flick of his wand that the man even looked up from his desk.

“Malfoy,” he said, offering up a pleasant smile.

Draco didn’t respond. He was too busy formulating what he was going to say. He stepped forward into the room, Potter looking at him silently all the while.

He could see the confusion written all over Potter’s face, but still he waited until he could place both of his hands on Potter’s desk, duck his head, and take a deep breath to speak.

“Astoria and I got divorced because she was sleeping with my best friend behind my back for the entirety of our marriage.” He looked at Potter then to find the brunet staring at him in wide-eyed incredulity. “She was going to keep it from me indefinitely. It seems she was willing to lie to me for the rest of our life together, if she could. But then she gave birth to Blaise’s son instead of mine, and that rather ruined her plans.”

He paused, waiting with morbid curiosity for how Potter would take that.

The man blinked, then took a deep breath. “That’s… pretty fucked up, Malfoy,” he said.

Draco heard a dry laugh escape him, and he bit his lip, though he couldn’t fight off an ironic smile completely. “Yes, Potter,” he said. “It is, in fact, ‘pretty fucked up.’ But that’s not the point. Or perhaps it is, in a way.” He saw Potter tilt his head, waiting for Draco to go on. “The point is, really, that I can’t…” He shifted with discomfort. Why did he think revealing his humiliation like this was a good idea? But he was in it now, and he had no other direction to go but forward. “It appears that Astoria, for the time being, has rather… ruined women for me. I can’t seem to… I have no interest in women, not even gorgeous pureblood Slytherins like Francesca Bianchi, who incidentally I _should_ be drooling over and scooping up for myself as soon as humanly possible. But I… can’t.”

Potter leaned back in his chair, looking at Draco intensely. But at least he wasn’t laughing; that was something. His expression was quite serious. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this, Malfoy. Maybe you just needed to tell… someone. But… I’m not sure how much I can give you, besides telling you that your ex-wife sounds like a real piece of work, and that she obviously didn’t deserve you. Other than that, it seems like… time… and distance from this are going to be the only things that can really help you. I don’t know what else to say.”

“I don’t need you to say anything specific, Potter. I don’t need you to talk me through this. That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Then what are you asking?”

Draco licked his lips. “I want you to help me meet men.”

Potter’s eyes widened once more. Then he blinked, leaned forward in his chair, blinked some more, and leaned back again. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but it took a few seconds for any sound to come out. “Sorry, um… just to be clear,” he said. “You mean ‘meet men’ as in, romantically?”

“Sexually, I mean. For the purposes of sex.”

Potter leaned forward in his chair again. “You’re interested in men?”

“I think I might be,” said Draco. “Signs point to yes.” He wasn’t about to tell Potter what he’d witnessed on Saturday night, or what he’d done about it afterwards when he got back to his rooms. “I definitely… well, I can’t say for sure, as I’ve never been with a man, but I think I could really enjoy it. It would be different, and that’s what I need right now. I need sex, and I need it to not even remotely remind me of my ex-wife. Do you think you can help me?”

“You’re looking for a casual fuck,” Potter summarized. “With a man.”

“Yes. But I don’t know how to go about picking up men, and given that you seem to be the expert-“

Potter started laughing. He put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands and laughed as though it was the funniest thing he had ever heard. Draco felt himself tensing, shutting down. He had hoped Potter wouldn’t be petty enough to react this way, but apparently he’d been wrong. He was about to snap at Potter to forget it and leave quickly when the brunet spoke.

“Sorry,” he huffed, getting control of himself. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing because… all right… well… maybe I’m laughing at you a little.” Draco made a move to go, but paused when Potter spoke again. “But only because the idea that you would need _my_ help…” He chuckled some more, then met Draco’s eyes, finally. “Malfoy, you could walk into any gay club, magic or Muggle, and a dozen men would immediately try to pick _you_ up. I mean… look at you.”

“What are you saying?”

“What am I saying?” Potter repeated. “I’m _saying_ you’re fit. You’re bloody gorgeous. A perfect ten. I’m saying you could snap your fingers and have yourself a casual bed-partner in seconds. You don’t need my help at all. The very idea is… absurd. That’s what I’m saying.”

Draco stared at him, wondering if Potter was mocking him. It seemed like he wasn’t, but he obviously wasn’t keen on helping Draco either. “Fine,” he said, and turned towards the door.

“Malfoy, wait,” said Potter, his tone conciliatory. Draco paused but didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Just… come back here for a second.”

Draco turned around slowly. Potter was standing now, his hands in his pockets. They stood before each other, and Draco waited.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Potter went on. “It makes sense that you would… I understand why you wouldn’t want to go out somewhere alone, when you’re not familiar with the place, or the people. Of course you’d want someone to have your back, to give you advice. That makes complete sense.”

Draco hesitated, but finally relaxed. He believed Potter was telling the truth, and not trying to embarrass him.

“You just caught me off guard, is all,” said the Gryffindor. “I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting… Well, anyway, I meant what I said. You could have any man you wanted. You could take your pick. But I’ll go with you, keep an eye on you, make sure you know what to expect. You’ll easily be able to do the rest. How does that sound?”

Draco only needed a moment to consider. “It sounds like exactly what I’m looking for.”


	4. Lesson 4: What a Kiss Can Tell You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and wonderful comments! Keep 'em coming!
> 
> Now, without further ado, let's find out what happens to Harry and Draco on their night out together...

_What does a person wear to a Muggle gay club?_

This was the question that had been rolling around in Draco’s brain all day, ever since he’d told Potter that morning that he’d decided to go Muggle instead of magical for this excursion, for the purposes of anonymity. No point in outing himself to all of wizarding Britain, he’d decided, until he actually figured out if he even liked sleeping with men.

It was the most logical course of action, but it did leave Draco at a disadvantage. He knew very little about Muggle culture, and even less about gay Muggle culture, so he had no idea how he was expected to act, talk, or dress.

Potter hadn’t been helpful. “Just be yourself,” he’d said. “Wear Muggle clothes, obviously, but it can be whatever you want. You’ll look hot anyway.”

Draco tried to ignore the little flip of his stomach at the memory of that comment. It made no difference if Potter could readily admit that he found Draco attractive. Draco _knew_ he was attractive. He had those trusty Malfoy genes, and Malfoys were always good-looking. It was just a fact.

Still, the Savior of the wizarding world referring to you as “a perfect ten” was rather flattering.

Not that it mattered.

 _Focus._ What was he going to wear? He did own Muggle clothes, as they were (admittedly) far more stylish and interesting than even the most well-tailored robes. But his wardrobe was simple. He liked classic elegance and clean lines, without a lot of fuss. Were gay men into that sort of thing? Or did he need to be flashier than that? Did he need to wear something that would help get him noticed?

There was a knock on the door.

“Bugger,” Draco said under his breath. Potter had arrived already, and Draco was still in his teaching robes. This was not a great start to the evening.

He abandoned the thought of trying to pick something and dress quickly and instead made for the door. He opened it with barely a look at Potter and turned away with a curt “Hold on a moment.”

He made his way to the bedroom again, where Potter’s steady, carrying voice followed him. “Not quite ready yet, I see.”

“Yes, Potter. Well-observed,” Draco said drily. “Nice to know your eyes are accurately connected to your brain.”

He received only a soft chuckle in response.

Returning to the closet again, Draco rifled through the clothes only to find he couldn’t focus. Knowing Potter was likely standing in the doorway watching him was a bit of a distraction. He pulled out a few different pairs of jeans and tossed them on his bed in a decisive manner, though he wasn’t even close to deciding anything. Then he started looking through the shirts, feeling utterly helpless.

“Would you like some… guidance?” he heard Potter ask.

Draco snorted. “From _you_ , Potter? Since you’re such a fashion expert?” He turned to look at Potter finally and his next snarky comment lodged itself in his throat.

Potter was leaning in the doorway, his feet, clad in pristine white trainers, casually crossed, looking at Draco with a relaxed expression. He wore a simple black t-shirt, fitted, but not overly so, just hinting at the chest and stomach muscles underneath. His jeans were tight, gray, and splattered with… paint, of all things, which should have looked ridiculous and contrived, but somehow managed to be simply… hot.

Draco was aware that his eyes were traveling down the length of Potter’s body in a rather obvious way, but he couldn’t seem to help it. They traveled upward again, to Potter’s face, and Draco realized something else.

“No glasses?” he asked.

Potter shook his head. “Contacts,” he said. Draco furrowed his brow, not understanding. “It’s a Muggle invention. You put the lenses directly on your eyes, so your vision is corrected without having to wear glasses.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Perhaps it’s simply vanity, but when I go out I like to wear them.” He uncrossed his feet and made his way further into the room. “My eyes are one of my best features, so I’m told, so it pays to let people really see them.”

Draco understood exactly what he meant. Behind the spectacles Potter’s eyes were alluring, to be sure, but _without_ that barrier they were – for lack of a better word – devastating. Draco had to force himself to look away.

His eyes fell on the clothes he’d tossed onto the bed. “Black jeans, I think,” he said.

“I agree,” said Potter. He passed Draco and picked up a pair. “The tightest you have, I’d say. You’ve got the goods, so why not show them off?”

Draco found his eyes flicking to Potter’s own shapely arse a moment, glad the Gryffindor couldn’t see. “Right.”

“As for a shirt…” Potter turned back to Draco, searching his face. “Blue or gray, with your eyes, don’t you think?”

He went to the closet and started to rummage through, comfortable as you please, pulling out various shirts that fit the bill. Draco looked at the growing pile on the bed, considering.

“Not gray,” he said. “I always wear gray.”

“Blue it is then.” He pulled out a cornflower blue button down and walked back over to Draco, applying the shirt against Draco’s torso with an assessing gaze.

“Look at me.”

Draco did automatically, to find Potter’s leaf green eyes searching his, but in a detached, appraising sort of way. He took a step back, looking Draco up and down, taking in the whole picture.

“Yes,” he said. He looked at Draco’s face again and handed him the shirt. “You have flecks of blue in your eyes.”

“I know.”

Potter’s lips curled into a small smile. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

When Draco emerged from the bedroom, dressed and ready, he found Potter contemplating the selection on his bookshelf. The brunet turned to him after a moment and looked him over.

“It isn’t too simple?” Draco asked, before Potter could say anything.

The Gryffindor shook his head, coming closer. “Simple is always better, in my opinion, unless you’re just trying to distract. And I can’t think of any reason why you would.” He looked the shirt over. “Still…”

He reached out, and Draco made a concerted effort not to flinch as Potter started rolling up his right sleeve, and then his left, revealing Draco’s Dark Mark, still intact but faded after the Dark Lord’s demise. Draco watched Potter’s face carefully, but it remained thoughtful, unaffected by the appearance of the mark.

“Relaxed is better,” he said softly. “Less buttoned up. Literally.” He reached for the top button of Draco’s shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m _un_ doing a couple of buttons,” Potter said calmly. “Give them a glimpse into what they could have if they play their cards right.”

“There’s a…” Draco licked his lips nervously. “You know I have a pretty big scar under…”

But Potter had already paused, the third button of the shirt undone and still clutched between his fingers. It appeared he had stopped breathing as he stared at Draco’s chest, his jaw tight and twitching and the rest of him inhumanly still.

“Potter?”

The brunet met his eyes and Draco looked closely, trying to discern exactly what he could see there: sadness, regret, fear, or perhaps a combination of all three. They stared at each other, at least until Potter finally found his voice.

“No one will be bothered by it, or very few will,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I have plenty of scars of my own, and I’ve never had any complaints.”

Draco nodded, glad Potter seemed to be relaxing again. He had no interest in a confrontation about their past or a heart-to-heart regarding all their mistakes during the war. That particular well was far too dark and deep, and Draco especially wanted to avoid reliving the _Sectumsempra_ spell Potter had cast on him all those years ago, or the duel that had led to it.

“All right, so am I ready?”

“Nearly.” Potter’s tone had returned to the candid one he’d been using all night. “Just the hair.”

“My hair?” the blond replied, incredulous.

But Potter was already running a hand through it, and Draco had to suppress a squawk of indignation. Instead he made himself stand there and tolerate it, having promised himself from the beginning that he would trust Potter in this endeavor, if only to absorb by association some of the magic the Gryffindor had when it came to attracting and satisfying men.

After a minute, though, with Potter’s solid form that close, and those deft fingers working along his scalp, he found he had to force himself to sit still for a different reason. Everywhere Potter’s fingers brushed left a tingling sensation along his skin, and Draco had to make a concerted effort not to lean into the touch, not to close his eyes and give in, not to take an extra step forward and enclose himself inside the natural warmth that radiated from Potter’s body.

He was only partially relieved when Potter finished, his fingers leaving Draco’s hair as he took a few steps back. The rest of him was frustrated, practically humming with a need for more.

 _Good thing we’re doing this tonight,_ he told himself. It would be nice to finally quench some of this need, so that even the lightest touch from someone like Potter of all people didn’t affect him so much.

“I have some things for you,” Potter said, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Oh?”

Potter nodded, pulling something long and slim out of his pocket. “It’s a Wand Concealer. A special holster, essentially, that lets you carry your wand on your person without anyone else being able to see or feel it. It’ll let you take your wand with you tonight to the club without worrying about losing it or a Muggle noticing it.”

Draco took the item with fascination. It was made of dragonhide and had a clasp at the top that let a person open it and slide their wand inside. “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he admitted.

“Auror Corps standard issue. Technically not available to civilians,” Potter said with a wry smirk. “But I took a few of them with me when I left the Corps. I thought they might come in handy.”

Draco smiled. “Sneaky, Potter.”

The smirk turned into a grin, a devilish one that Draco was finding he liked quite a bit. “So, there’s that,” he said. “And then you’ll also need some Muggle money, so you can buy your own drinks. Or other men drinks as it were.” He handed Draco a simple two-fold wallet. “It’s mokeskin, with an Anti-theft Charm on it, so just keep it in your back pocket. No one will be able to steal it.”

“You certainly come prepared,” Draco said, unable to keep his tone from sounding impressed, as he opened the wallet and thumbed through the small stack of notes. He knew enough about Muggle money to understand that this would more than cover him for the night.

“I do this a lot.” Potter said. “And I’ve learned some things the hard way.”

Draco nodded, pocketing both the wallet and the Wand Concealer. “So that’s it then. We’re ready?”

“We’re ready.”

They made their way out of the castle and onto the grounds in silence. The moon was out and the path to Hogsmeade easy to see in the cool blue light. It wasn’t until they could see the gates of the village in the distance that Potter broke the silence.

“Are you nervous?”

Draco hesitated, considering answering in the negative, but soon realizing it would be obvious he was lying if he tried.

“It would surprise me if you weren’t,” Potter went on, in what Draco was quickly coming to recognize as his “understanding voice.”

Draco nodded, but said nothing.

“Well, some advice… since this is what I’m here for, yeah?” He waited for Draco to turn and look at him, indicating he was listening, before he continued. “Let yourself be choosy. There’s no need to go with the first bloke that shows an interest. Take some time to scope out the territory first, and if you find yourself attracted to someone, give yourself some time with them, to see if there’s any real chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” Draco asked. “What in Merlin’s name is chemistry?”

Potter chuckled. “Right, sorry. It’s a branch of Muggle science that mainly focuses on the ways substances interact with each other. But when talking about sex, Muggles use it to refer to…” He trailed off, thinking. “The way that two _people_ interact, I suppose. It refers to the mysteries of human attraction, what it is about another person that gets the blood pumping in our veins, you know?”

“All right…”

“It’s not easily quantifiable, and it doesn’t always make sense. You just have to feel it.”

Draco thought that over. “And I’ll just feel it, if I have… chemistry with someone?”

“Sure, but it’s not always immediate or obvious. That’s why you give yourself some time. Buy them a drink, talk to them. See if you can make them laugh or if they can make you laugh. That’s always a good sign. And if that feels good, let yourself get a little physical. Touch them, just on the arm or something. And then ask them to dance.”

“Dance?”

Potter arched a brow. “Unless you don’t like to dance, in which case-”

“I’m an excellent dancer, I’ll have you know.”

Potter smiled. “I have no doubt that you are. Anyway, dancing is an informative prelude to sex. It tells you a lot about if you’re compatible.”

“And if we are?”

“Then you’ll find some dark corner somewhere to fool around, if you like. And if not, then graciously walk away, no harm done.”

“That simple, hm?”

“Yes, if you let it be.”

“It wouldn’t make me…” Draco wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Potter walked beside him in silence, waiting patiently. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t make them consider me a tease? Show them what they might have and then walk away? I mean, if I’m going to get them all hot and bothered…”

Potter stopped, the pebbles of the path making a scraping sound under his trainers. Draco stopped too, turning to him.

“No,” Potter said. He took a few steps, closing the distance between them. “ _No,_ ” he said more emphatically. “You think just because you dance and rub up on a bloke for a few minutes you _owe_ them something? You don’t owe them anything. You’re not obligated to…” He shook his head. “Please don’t tell me you’re going in with that attitude, like you have to finish everything you start, or you have to do certain…” He put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Do what you want, what you feel ready for, and no more than that. It doesn’t matter if a bloke is pushy or wants something specific from you. If you don’t want to give it, don’t.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right.”

“No, not ‘yeah, yeah, all right.’ I’m fucking serious, Malfoy.”

Draco blinked at Potter, chewing on his bottom lip. Finally he nodded, showing the man that he understood. “All right. I won’t give them anything I don’t want to.”

“Good.” Potter relaxed, the hand on Draco’s shoulder falling away. They kept walking in silence, finally passing through the gates into Hogsmeade. Now that they were off the Hogwarts grounds, they could Apparate. Draco turned to Potter.

“You’ll side-along me, I suppose?”

“That makes the most sense, don’t you think?” Potter replied, though he was watching Draco carefully.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re sure you want to do this?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter, I’m sure.” It was hard to believe, that he was voluntarily going to a Muggle club to try and pick up men with Harry Potter as his wingman, but it _had_ been his idea. And he had to know if he liked men enough to have sex with them. He had to.

“Then let’s go,” Potter said, offering his elbow. Draco took it without hesitation.

***

It seemed to Draco he could _feel_ the music more than hear it. It hummed through the floor with a powerful, steady rhythm, traveling through his shoes and up into his gut.

His eyes strained to take it all in, still not used to the dim colored lights that were moving about the crowded dance floor, not allowing him to see more than a torso here, an elbow there, half a face, the back of a head. The crowd looked more like one amorphous, amoebic creature than a room full of individual people.

There were so many of them.

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to see Potter leaning in, in order to be heard over the music. “Drinks first? Then scope out the place?”

Draco nodded and followed Potter through the crowd that was hovering on the edge of the dance floor, noticing that they were getting a few obvious looks already.

 _Men are a lot less subtle than women,_ Draco thought wryly as one bloke in pink short-shorts that left nothing to the imagination wagged his tongue in Draco’s direction. This really wasn’t going to be that difficult. He wasn’t sure if that realization thrilled or terrified him.

The music was a little less prominent at the bar, Draco was glad to discover, and he was easily able to hear Potter order a scotch and soda.

“And you?” the bartender asked Draco, eyeing him appreciatively in the process.

Draco was stymied, realizing he had no idea what sort of alcohol Muggles drank. He couldn’t very well order a double of Ogden’s and have them know what he was talking about. He was about to pick something randomly from the massive selection lining the wall when Potter spoke again.

“Gin and tonic for him,” he heard Potter say, placing a couple of Muggle notes on the bar. “With lime.” He turned back to Draco. “Give it a try. If you don’t like it, we’ll order something else.”

“Sure, thanks,” Draco said. He didn’t much care. He wanted a little something, to get his courage up, but he was hardly about to get drunk. He wanted to have his wits about him.

Potter turned around, facing the rest of the club and taking it in. Draco copied him.

“See anything you like?”

“I see a lot I like,” Draco said honestly. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Let’s see who comes to you first, hm?” Potter suggested. “After that we can go on the prowl.”

“Your drinks, gents,” said the bartender behind them, and they both retrieved their cocktails. Draco was surprised to find his clear and bubbly. He took a sip, noting the astringent flavor first before realizing he actually found it rather refreshing.

“What’s your type, do you think?” Potter asked him. “Or have you not given it much thought?”

“Lean and solid, but not overly muscled,” Draco found himself saying as he checked out a man in designer jeans that fit just that description. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he was finding individuals easier to spot. “Not taller than me, I don’t think.” His eyes flitted from one body to the next, until they landed on another bloke, a brunet, who kept laughing and brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “Dark hair is better,” he said. “And I like them clean, well-groomed, but not too… not overdone.”

Potter laughed beside him. “So you have given it a little bit of thought.”

“I suppose,” Draco said, suddenly aware that his description rather matched Potter, come to think of it. “I rather like the look of that one.” He pointed at the shaggy-haired, laughing guy. “I like his hair.”

“Mm, he’s quite fit,” Potter agreed. “I like it when they have enough hair to really grab onto.”

Draco snorted delicately into his drink. “I suppose that’s the sort of thing I won’t know until I have some exp-“

“Harry?” Draco was interrupted by a deep male voice, and he turned to see that a tall and bulky – rather intimidatingly so, really – man with reddish brown hair and a well-trimmed beard had sidled up to Potter, a grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Paul,” Potter said simply. The man kissed Potter full on the mouth, though it seemed to Draco friendly rather than sexual. This was further confirmed when Potter asked, “Where’s Colin? I thought you two were joined at the hip these days.”

“We’ve split, didn’t you hear?”

“Really?” Potter looked genuinely surprised. “I’ve been out of the loop the past few weeks. When did it happen?”

“September. He took a job in Edinburgh.”

“He’s gone?”

“Gone.”

“Well, I’m sorry.”

“It was for the best.” The bearded man, Paul, Potter had called him, suddenly glanced Draco’s way. “You’ve brought a friend.” His tone had turned appreciative as he looked Draco up and down in that way that Draco was becoming quickly familiar with. “Normal friend or special friend?”

Potter laughed. “Old friend. This is Draco. We went to school together. Known each other since we were eleven.”

“You don’t say.”

“And now we work together.”

“So you’re a teacher too, then,” Paul said to Draco. “What’s your subject?”

Draco opened his mouth, having no idea what he was going to say. What subjects did Muggle children learn in school?

“Chemistry,” he heard Potter reply, tossing a surreptitious wink Draco’s way.

“Really,” Paul said, as if this was interesting. “I was absolute pants at chemistry, to tell you the truth.”

“So was I,” Potter replied, “as Draco can readily attest to.”

“Or he would, if he ever spoke,” Paul said. “Do you speak?” he asked Draco, arching a brow.

“I speak,” said Draco. “When I feel like it.” He wasn’t sure he much liked Paul. He took a large sip of his drink and set it on the bar. “Right now, I feel like dancing.”

“You want company?” Potter asked him.

“No, you two catch up. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

But Draco had already turned away, leaving Paul to try and make it with Potter or whatever his intentions were. Draco had intentions of his own.

He looked again for the shaggy-haired bloke, but couldn’t find him, so he simply worked his way into the crowd, feeling suddenly sucked in as if by a mouth.

The staccato beat of the music felt like a cocoon around him, or perhaps that was the mass of bodies pressing into him, running their hands over him, encouraging him to move as they were moving. Draco did, following the example of those around him. This was hardly like the dancing he had grown up with; it was much easier, no required set of steps, just flowing and moving by intuition, letting the music be the guide.

Even this felt good, liberating, rubbing against strangers, letting skin flow against skin. He had yet to find a true dance partner yet, but he didn’t care. He felt welcomed in, integrated into the primal ritual happening around him.

He felt a set of arms wrap around his waist and looked up to stare into a pair of dark eyes. They belonged to a face with shapely cheekbones and a pointed chin, but Draco hardly had time to take that in before they were pressed close, and all he could see was the man’s thin mouth. Their hips rolled together as slim fingers explored Draco, trailing up his back, tickling his neck. Another hand was sneaking up Draco’s chest, to the sliver of skin revealed at the opening of his shirt.

Those slim fingers were undoing more buttons, but Draco let it happen, ghosting his lips over the other man’s. A tongue flicked out and licked at Draco’s bottom lip, making Draco shiver in surprise, or perhaps pleasure. A greedy hand was running over his stomach, and he reveled in that touch, even though the hands were bigger and a little rougher than he was used to.

 _This is supposed to feel different_ , he reminded himself.

Draco didn’t know it could be like this: no words, just feeling, but he was happy to go with it, happy to explore as he was being explored. The chest in front of him was smooth and hairless, and with the sweat and heat of the club his hands slipped across the skin easily, learning the masculine ridges by touch.

It was becoming clear, though, that the man dancing on him was a bit… tongue-y. He was licking at Draco’s collarbone, an odd sensation, and then came to suck on one of his earlobes before running his tongue along it, nearly dipping inside his ear. Draco wasn’t so sure how he felt about that.

“Your tattoo is so hot,” the man said against him.

_What?_

But Draco didn’t even have the chance to ask aloud. The other man had already grabbed his left wrist and dragged it towards his mouth. Draco felt a frisson of disbelief shoot through him as he watched a tongue trace the body of the snake, making it’s way towards the open mouth of the skull.

Disbelief gave way to revulsion. Who would want to lick the Dark Mark? It was like something his Aunt Bellatrix would have done. And he was well shot of anyone who even resembled her.

He pulled away, letting himself slip through an opening between bodies and get lost, taking advantage of the large crowd. So that particular bloke wasn’t his cup of tea after all. Potter had said he might not always know right away. No matter, he would find others.

He danced some more as one song flowed easily into the next, as bodies flowed into each other, but he didn’t find himself drawn to anyone in particular. He decided to take a break, and when the dance floor finally spat him back out again he was back at the bar, where Potter still was, drinking and socializing.

Paul was gone, and in his place was a rail-thin guy with dark curly hair and mahogany skin, sipping on some kind of blood red cocktail and making overtly sexual eyes at Potter. Draco approached.

“Water, please,” he said to bartender, who nodded.

“You look thoroughly ravished,” Potter told him, taking in the now open shirt that revealed the expanse of Draco’s scarred but chiseled abdomen. “Meet anyone you like?”

“Not especially,” Draco said honestly, nodding thanks to the bartender when a glass of water was put in front of him. “Some were decently fit but nothing that got my blood really racing.”

“Ah, well, it’s early yet.”

“One of them licked my mark,” Draco said, holding up his arm and making a face.

Potter laughed and leaned towards him, answering in a low voice. “They don’t have any idea what that is, you know. They think it’s just a normal tattoo.”

“I know that,” said Draco. “But still…”

“Hey, if you don’t like anyone licking it, then more power to you, I say. Never apologize for what you like or don’t like, as long it’s not illegal or immoral.”

“Maybe if we knew each other better,” Draco mused, realizing he sounded a bit prudish, “I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Potter simply smiled and shrugged. Across him Draco could see the curly-haired man giving him a dark look. Apparently he didn’t much like that Draco had lured Potter’s attention away from him. He resisted the urge to smirk, as that might be construed as antagonistic.

As if sensing the man’s displeasure, Potter turned back to him, whispering something in his ear that Draco couldn’t hear but which made the man lick his lips and smile. When Potter pulled away, their mouths came close enough to brush together.

Draco looked away, suppressing a stab of annoyance at the sight. Yes, Potter had come here to help him, but that didn’t mean the Gryffindor wasn’t entitled to have some fun in the process. Draco didn’t have much right to be annoyed, and he knew it. He just needed to find his own fun.

A figure down the bar caught his attention. The man was simply dressed in jeans and a light t-shirt, resting his forearms on the bar. His dark hair was cut high and tight, and it showed off his strong jaw and a small gold stud in his ear that suited him. The man smiled at something the bartender was saying to him, and it called attention to his full, sensual mouth and straight white teeth. Draco felt his stomach flip. He liked a nice smile.

He turned back to see that Potter had followed his line of sight. He met Draco’s eyes, raising his eyebrows in a question. Draco gave him a half-shrug.

“Go,” Potter said, tilting his head towards the sexy, smiling man. “You know what to do.”

“Right,” Draco said. He patted his back pocket, making sure he knew the whereabouts of the mokeskin wallet.

The dark-haired man noticed him coming, and bit his lip in a flirtatious and promising way. Draco mustered his courage to take the final few steps.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Can I buy you a-“

The bartender put a tumbler of amber-colored liquid in front of the dark-haired man, effectively cutting off Draco’s question. The man looked at Draco coyly, cocking an amused eyebrow, and Draco realized he had two choices: walk away humiliated or laugh it off. He chose the second option.

“I guess I’m a bit late on that offer,” he said, pointing to the drink.

The other man laughed in return. “I guess it just means _I_ should buy _you_ a drink. What’ll you have?”

“Gin and tonic,” Draco said, grinning. “With lime.”

The man ordered, smiling, then turned back to Draco. “I’m Rick.”

“Draco.”

“ _Draco._ ” That sensual mouth wrapped around Draco’s name in a way that made the blond shiver. This was promising indeed. “Like the constellation?”

Draco nodded, pleased. “Exactly like the constellation.”

“Mm, interesting. I like it.”

Draco's drink was placed in front of him and he took a sip, enjoying the way Rick watched him. “It’s a tradition in my family, naming children after the night sky.”

“A much more poetic tradition than in my family,” Rick replied easily. “I’m just named after my father, and he’s a bastard.”

“Something we have in common, then.”

“Ah. Well, mine kicked me out of the house when I was sixteen for being a blatant and unapologetic poof. What did yours do?”

Draco took another sip while he considered how he wanted to answer. “I’m afraid it would take all night to list my father's crimes,” he said, enjoying the fact that Rick didn’t know just how literally he meant that. “And I can think of a lot of other things I would rather spend the night doing.”

The man bit his lip again, like he knew how much Draco liked it. “So can I. So maybe we should find somewhere more private to… talk about them. Or maybe just do them.”

Draco took a hefty sip of his drink, enough to nearly drain it, and Rick copied him. “Maybe we should,” Draco said, leaning in. “But dance with me first.” He remembered Potter’s advice, which so far hadn’t steered him wrong. And he wanted to see how he and Rick moved together.

Looking surprised, but pleased, the man nodded. Emboldened, Draco took his hand, leading him to the dance floor. They passed Potter and his current quarry on the way, the two men talking with their mouths so close they were nearly snogging. But no matter, Draco thought. He had something better.

Lights flashed overhead, and the bass boomed, and some Muggle girl sang about wanting the DJ to turn the music up, but all of that was background to the way Rick moved against him, felt against him. He even _smelled_ good, a spicy scent that mixed perfectly with a natural sweaty musk that Draco found surprisingly intoxicating. He caught himself wanting to be the one doing the licking this time, and so he trusted his instincts, trailing a wet kiss up the man’s neck to his earlobe. He took the metal stud in his mouth, sucking and then tonguing it, eliciting a groan from Rick that he could feel as a vibration against his neck.

Rick was using his teeth, sucking on Draco’s neck and then nipping at the tender spot, and the sharp feeling was at once foreign and stimulating – Astoria was never one to give him love bites, only receive them. He pulled back enough to meet Rick’s mouth with his, and the breathed the same breaths in an open-mouthed kiss that let their tongues dance across each other.

Grinding against the other man was giving Draco a hard-on unlike anything he’d had all night, and it was becoming clear that Rick was having the same reaction. He felt the man grin against his mouth, a hand roaming to explore and lightly cup Draco between his legs. Draco’s sharp intake of breath had Rick’s smile widening.

“Come with me,” he said, grabbing Draco by the lapels of his open shirt.

Draco went willingly. This was far too exciting, too promising to stop. So he let himself be dragged, away from the crowd and the lights and the music, down a narrow hallway and into a bathroom.

Ignoring the other men in the room, who were engaged in various activities that Draco barely got a proper glimpse of, Rick hauled him into a stall and slammed Draco into the cold metal wall. Their mouths were colliding again in an instant, Rick nipping hard at Draco’s lips and chin in a way that made it clear he was fully ready to up the pace.

Draco tried to keep up, tried to move with Rick as fluidly as they had on the dance floor, but the man’s whole demeanor had changed, his hands all over Draco with a ravishing intensity that Draco thought might leave bruises, his mouth consuming Draco’s in a way that was… distracting.

Or maybe it was the bite of metal against his skin, or the grim, harsh light above them, so different from the sweaty warmth of the dancing bodies and the cool, atmospheric lights of the club. He couldn’t say what it was, but something was pulling him out of his haze.

Then Rick grabbed Draco’s erection again, and he remembered he had come here for a reason, and if he wanted to get off he was going to have to roll with it.

“I don’t have a condom,” Rick said against Draco’s jaw. “Do you?”

“No,” Draco answered, because he had no bloody idea what a condom was.

“Oral it is, then,” Rick said, tugging on Draco’s fly. “You going first, or should I?”

There was something about that, about the flat, cavalier quality of the man’s voice, about the practiced glibness of his fingers, that made Draco feel like he was outside himself. It was like he was watching two strangers, two men he didn’t know, about to suck each other off in a dingy lavatory like it was nothing, like neither of them particularly cared.

 _This isn’t what you want,_ he realized. _This was never what you wanted._ Even the way he had envisioned it in his head, casual sex with a man, it hadn’t been like this. It hadn’t felt like this.

“Wait.” He pushed against Rick’s toned chest, creating distance between them. “Just… wait. I don’t-“

“What the hell?” Rick asked, his face twisting into an expression of annoyance and incredulity.

Guilt and shame lanced through Draco in quick succession at the way Rick was looking at him, followed closely by panic. Without another word Draco bolted, throwing open the stall door and exiting the lav. He went back the way they had come, towards the lights and the music, looking around frantically.

He couldn’t see Potter anywhere, not by the bar, and not on the edge of the dance floor. Perhaps he was dancing in the thick of the crowd, or maybe he’d taken Mr. Curly-hair into some dark corner and was buggering him senseless.

 _Fuck,_ Draco thought. _Fuck this, fuck him, fuck everything._

He didn’t want to be here. And so he did the only thing that made sense. He fled.

***

He made it back to Hogwarts and through the castle without running into anyone, thank Merlin. He’d rebuttoned his shirt, healed the love bites on his neck, and tried to fix his hair, but no one who saw him would be able to mistake the debauched quality of his appearance or have any doubt as to what sort of thing he’d just been up to.

He practically flung himself into his quarters, slamming the door behind him, craving the guaranteed solitude inside. Once he was there, though, he paused, feeling a wave of hopelessness overtake him.

 _What the bloody hell is wrong with you?_ he asked himself. This was a question he was quite familiar with, at this point, but it felt different this time. Because this time he’d had hope. He’d had real genuine hope that he could find something that made him feel good, that made him feel like a man again.

_And instead I’ve just shown myself to be what I always have been, a pansy-arsed little coward._

He’d _wanted_ Rick. He’d really wanted him. And he’d had him right there. He could have… he could have had all the things he imagined Potter got on a regular basis. He could’ve gotten _real_ satisfaction for the first time in months. So why couldn’t he follow through?

A soft knock on the door made Draco turn.

 _Potter_.

Who else could it be? It was unlikely that he would be approached by another staff member about an emergency in the middle of the night. He wasn’t a head of house or a member of the Healing staff.

So it had to be Potter.

 _Coming to rub my nose in my failure,_ he thought. Or perhaps worse. Perhaps he was coming to give Draco a pep talk about putting himself out there and trying again. He didn’t think he could stand to hear something like that right now.

The knock sounded again, louder this time, followed by a voice.

“Malfoy, I just want to make sure you’re all right.” There was a pause while Draco debated what to do. “I just want to make sure that nothing horrible happened to you, that you weren’t… harmed in any way. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

Harmed? What was he on about?

Draco crossed the room and opened the door. Potter’s face registered surprise for a brief moment, then he looked Draco up and down, his eyes assessing.

“See, I’m fine,” Draco said. He turned away from the door but left it open. He realized this was an invitation for Potter to come inside, but… in truth, a part of him wanted Potter to accept the invitation.

He did, closing the door behind him.

“You look _physically_ unharmed,” said Potter, after a few seconds.

“Of course,” Draco scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just vanished on me. I couldn’t find you. For a moment I… suspected the worst.”

“The worst?”

“People can get hurt, wandering on their own at night.”

Draco arched a brow. “You think a Muggle could hurt me, Potter? I would have hexed them into oblivion if they tried.”

Potter sighed. “Fair point. I… perhaps it was irrational. But I was worried anyway.”

Draco felt a strange heat gather in his navel at the idea that Potter was worried about him, that he… cared whether or not Draco was all right.

 _He just doesn’t want to be liable if something bad happens to me,_ Draco reminded himself bitterly. Noble Potter saw Draco’s safety as his _responsibility_ , that was all.

“And then I figured you’d simply come back here. And then I was worried for a different reason.”

“Oh?”

“I take it things with that Muggle…”

“Rick.”

“Right. Rick. I take it things with Rick didn’t go well?”

Draco bowed his head. How did he explain all that he had felt in that moment, the strange mix of lust and terror, the feeling of careening so far out of control he didn’t recognize himself anymore? “I just… couldn’t go through with it,” he said softly.

He saw Potter nod out of the corner of his eye. “Ok,” he said. “Well, at least now you know.”

Draco looked at Potter, confused. “What?”

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed or feel guilty. There was no way for you to know for sure if you would like being with men until you tried it. So you did. And that was really brave, to tell you the truth. Just because it didn’t work out, doesn’t mean-“

“That’s not it, Potter,” Draco said through gritted teeth, putting his hands over his eyes. “That’s not why.”

There was a surprised silence before Potter answered. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you?” Draco said bitterly. “You’re Harry Potter, hero of the wizarding world and gay London’s resident sex god. What would you know about it?”

“I…” Potter was at a loss for words, and Draco took a grim satisfaction from that. “If…” He paused again. “Maybe if you would just _try_ to explain it to me, I could help you.”

“Help me?”

“Yes. You _did_ ask for my help, did you not?”

“Help with meeting men, Potter, not help with my inherent fucked-upness.”

Potter let out a delicate huff of laughter. “Well, if your inherent fucked-upness is stopping you from meeting men, then why can’t I also help you with that?”

Draco looked up at Potter in disbelief. He’d never met someone so… _not_ judgmental in his life. The way Potter talked, it was like Draco’s performance anxiety was just some little conundrum to be remedied, and not a major character flaw as his father had always made it clear it was.

“Tell me what happened, Draco,” Potter said gently. “Then we can figure out what to do about it together.”

Maybe it was Potter calling him by his first name, or perhaps his use of the word “we,” but Draco found himself answering.

“It was going really well at first,” he said. “We were dancing, and he was kissing my neck, and we were snogging, and it was good. It felt good. I was getting… you know…” He glanced at his groin.

“Turned on?” Potter finished for him with an arch of a brow. “Hard?”

“Yes, exactly,” said Draco, fighting the urge to blush. He didn’t usually talk about this sort of thing aloud at all. But if Potter could be matter-of-fact about it, so could he. “We both were. And we knew it. I could feel… we could feel each other’s…”

“Erections?” Potter definitely sounded a little amused now.

“Stop that. Just let me finish.”

“My apologies. Please continue.”

Draco heaved a sigh, but went on. “So we were into it, and I thought I was doing pretty well, all things considered. But then before I knew it Rick was dragging me off the dance floor towards the loo. At first I was excited. I thought, ‘This is really going to happen.’ I _wanted_ it to happen. But then we were in a stall and he was kissing me and it was just all very… intense. It wasn’t how I’m used to being kissed at all. It was… he was very aggressive and I just couldn’t… I don’t know how to explain it.” He closed his eyes, remembering. “I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t let myself enjoy it. Or, I don’t know… I was distracted.” He shook his head. “I know kissing men is different from kissing women, so maybe I just wasn’t prepared, or I had to adjust. But it was all happening so fast. He was undoing my trousers and asking who was going to go first and I… realized I didn’t want it. And I remembered what you said about how if I didn’t want it, I should just walk away. That I wasn’t obligated to… you know, finish. So I pushed him back and told him to wait and… he looked really put out and said, ‘What the hell?’ and then I just… took off. I felt like a complete idiot. Like a tease. But I… I didn’t feel like I could follow through. And if I had tried, I would have just disappointed him.” Draco swallowed and turned away. He didn’t want to see the look of pity that was surely on Potter’s face at that moment.

There was silence behind him for at least a minute, but still Draco didn’t turn around. He didn’t know what that silence meant.

“It sounds to me,” Potter said finally, his voice deep and steady, “like this bloke was a right prick, personally.”

Draco turned around again to stare at Potter.

“He sounds like the kind of guy who was just looking to get his and didn’t care about your needs or what you wanted. I’m not surprised you walked away. I would have, if I had been you.”

Draco realized he was gaping, and closed his mouth with a click. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” Potter said, taking a few steps toward Draco. “Even just the way you describe being kissed. In a way you’re not used to. The way men _supposedly_ kiss differently than women? I bet it was all teeth and tongue, right?”

Draco thought back. “Yes, it was.”

Potter nodded. “That has its place, certainly, if you’re into it, but when you’ve just met someone… well, it seems to me the man had no finesse, and certainly no sense of what you liked. Or at least, he didn’t care.” He shook his head. “One of the things I learned early on when I started sleeping with men regularly is that just because they’re good-looking doesn’t necessarily mean they will be good lovers. In fact, the opposite is often true, if they’re used to getting their way. They think they’re doing their partners a favor by being with them at all and think other people should just be happy to take what they can get. And some people let them get away with it. But you didn’t. So really, you should be proud of yourself.”

Draco blinked at him, trying to understand. “So it’s… not always like that.”

“No,” Potter insisted, coming even closer. “It isn’t. What men like, the way they approach sex, or even just kissing and snogging, is as diverse as the men themselves. There is no one way to go about it. On top of that, no one man wants the same thing all the time. We all have different needs and desires and things we like and things we don’t like, and it changes and evolves, and…” Potter smiled. “That’s _why_ I like sex so much, honestly. I mean, the getting off itself is great, of course. But it’s also… there’s a challenge in it, a puzzle in it, to find out what your partner wants and how to give them as much pleasure as possible. Whether I’m only with someone for one night or regularly for a while, I still find myself surprised by them. I still learn new things all the time. And when I get it right, when it’s absolutely perfect… it’s the biggest high you can imagine. I think _that’s_ what sex should be, a mutual getting to know each other, a mutual game to see who can make the other feel amazing. Not just some orgasms and an awkward goodbye.”

Draco felt what was now becoming a familiar sensation of the world tilting and re-scrambling, changing his view of Potter yet again. He’d thought of the Gryffindor as a sex god because he could have whatever he wanted. But now he could see it differently, the way Potter himself saw it. He was a sex god because he made sure to give as good as he got.

“But it has to go both ways,” Potter continued. “I take great pleasure in pleasing my partners, but if they’re not interested in also pleasing me, then they’re not worth my time. And the opposite is also true. I don’t like being with someone whose self-esteem is so low that they don’t think they deserve to get what they want and have someone else make them feel good. There’s no fun in that for me. It’s just… frustrating.” He met Draco’s eyes, his jaw hardening. “You _deserve_ pleasure, Draco. You deserve to have someone make the effort to get to know you, or at least what you like, enough to make you feel good. You deserve for someone to kiss you the way _you_ like, not just the way they like. If they don’t want to put in the effort, then forget them.”

Draco crossed his arms. A part of him liked Potter’s perspective on the issue, but it was hard for him to fully wrap his head around. “Ever thought that maybe most people aren’t as good at it as you are?” he asked. “Figuring out what someone else wants? Seems to me you just have some sort of sexual Legilimency or something.”

Potter laughed, his green eyes vibrant even in the dim light of the fire. “It requires no mind-reading, trust me. For one thing, a lot of men simply tell me what they like. That’s always helpful. It gives me a good baseline, at least.” He dipped his head, his voice going low and soft. “But if they’re not sure, or if they’re playing it coy… I don’t mind-read. I… body-read. It’s just… paying attention, really. When I touch someone, I pay attention to how they react to that touch. I listen to the sounds they make, the way they breathe.” He glanced up at Draco again.

Draco found his own breath catching in his throat. Potter was awfully close, all of a sudden, close enough to reach out and touch if he simply lifted a hand. He was watching Draco as he spoke, those green, green eyes tracing the contours of his face.

“And then I touch them some more, or kiss them, or both, and their reactions tell me what to do next. They tell me to keep the same pace, or they tell me to move faster, play rougher. Or they tell me to take it slow, to let us work our way up. They tell me how hard or gentle to be, how passionate, how aggressive. They tell me whether I should take them fast and hard or slow and sensual. Some people want to be the aggressors, others want to be dominated. Some want a bit of both. Some simply want to be tossed on a bed and taken, and others… want to be seduced.”

He tilted his head and licked his lips, and Draco felt his mouth go dry. He tried to swallow, but it was difficult.

“Is that what you want, Draco?” Potter asked. “To be seduced?”

Draco snorted lightly, trying to find his voice to answer. _Of course not._

“It’s all right if it is, you know. You have every right to want that.”

“I do, do I?” Draco managed, aware at how rough his voice was.

“Yes. And any man in his right mind should consider it a privilege, the opportunity to seduce you.”

Draco shook his head, his eyes never leaving Potter’s.

“Yes,” Potter said, his voice even softer now. He was only inches from Draco; they were breathing the same air. But Draco didn’t create any distance between them. He couldn’t get his feet to move. “If it were me, looking at you, I could see your hesitancy. I could see that you don’t know yet what another man’s touch could make you feel. So I would start slow, somewhere soft, like your neck.”

And a hand reached up, leisurely in its pace, but purposeful, and fingers brushed the delicate skin next to Draco’s pulse point. Draco realized he was trembling, actually _trembling_ , but he didn’t back away. Potter’s thumb ran lightly along his jaw, and his breath hitched.

“And if you liked that,” Potter said, “then I would move closer, and I would touch you again.” Potter’s fingers were firmer on his skin now, flowing across his throat, letting it give way under the light pressure. Draco felt shivers begin at the back of his neck and dance down his spine before spreading outward, gamboling across every inch of his flesh in waves. He put a hand on Potter’s hip to steady himself.

“And now that you’ve put a hand on me, now that you’re touching me, I know I can tell you just how delicious you look, and how badly I want to taste you.”

Draco let out a surprised gasp, then closed his eyes. Potter wanted to _taste_ him. The idea shouldn’t have been so heady, but it was. It was exactly what he wanted to hear.

He felt it as Potter dipped his head, his nose nudging at the collar of Draco’s shirt. Potter took a deep breath, as if inhaling him, and then his nose trailed upwards, along Draco’s neck, his breath tickling the skin. Draco released a shaky sigh.

_Taste me. Please taste me._

It was the lightest brush of lips at first, followed by a small flick of the tongue, but still Draco had to bite back the moan that wanted to escape him. Potter’s soft lips pressed more firmly to him, trailing much like his nose had done, before landing just under his jaw and sucking gently. Draco’s hand tightened on Potter’s hip.

“You _are_ delicious, Draco,” Potter said, the words half-whispers against his throat. “I want to know every inch of your perfect neck. I want to find…” His lips were playing along Draco’s skin again. “… and kiss… and _suck…_ ” He made the word sound obscene, the “s” a hiss and the “k” a click of his adam’s apple. “…all the places that will make you squirm. All the places that will make you melt for me.”

Potter’s mouth nipped at a spot at the back of Draco’s jaw, the spot right under his earlobe, and Draco groaned as if Potter had touched his cock. The sensation was that sweet, that sharp, that _good_. He pressed himself flush against Potter, feeling the lean solidness of his body and feeling (he gulped, then groaned again) the heat and hardness of their growing erections pressing into each other.

Potter started across Draco’s jaw, towards his chin, his mouth getting bolder now, as he kissed and nipped and sucked, all the way across, all the way to his mouth, where he lingered at the corner of Draco’s lips before skipping the mouth altogether and moving to the other side, making his way down the neck again, to new territory unexplored.

Draco’s lips tingled from the lack of touch, suddenly overcome with need, with the bereft feeling of being left unattended. Potter’s mouth on his throat was exquisite, but it wasn’t enough.

“Potter,” he gasped.

“Harry,” the other man corrected breathlessly. “Call me Harry.”

“Harry,” said Draco, and even that, the strange and forbidden nature of that name on his lips, sent his libido skyrocketing. “Kiss me.”

Potter pulled away to look at him, and Draco got the first glimpse of just how much this was affecting Potter too, how blown wide his pupils were, how red his lips. It spurred Draco on, crowding out any doubt that remained.

“Kiss me,” he repeated.

Potter smiled, and a hand cupped Draco’s jaw. His thumb brushed Draco’s bottom lip, pressing into it. “Yes,” he breathed, like this was what he had been waiting for. He closed the distance, meeting Draco’s lips with his.

Draco really did melt now. Because this was… perfect. This wasn’t all teeth and tongue. This was lips, pure and soft, full and delicious. And when the teeth did make an appearance, when Potter nipped at Draco’s bottom lip, it was just the right amount of pressure, the perfect balance to the silky, soft skin gliding along his own. And when Draco was ready, he dipped his tongue in, testing the waters, and Potter’s tongue came to meet him, and they rolled together, exploring, savoring, in no hurry at all.

 _This is how it should have been,_ he thought as his hand gripped Potter’s hair and held on. _This is how it should have been all along._ He had craved it without knowing it. But now he had it, and he didn’t want it to stop.

And that was when Potter pulled away with a gasp. He panted heavily a moment and Draco watched him, wondering what was going to happen, his brain a fog of lust and disbelief.

“ _That_ is how you deserve to be kissed,” Potter said, his voice rough. “That is what anyone lucky enough to be with you should give you. Do you understand?”

Draco blinked and found himself nodding.

“Don’t let anyone – not your ex-wife, not Rick the Prick, not _anyone_ – tell you otherwise. If they even try, if they can’t see what they have right in front of them, then to hell with them, right?”

Draco was thrown by the forcefulness of Potter’s words as he tried to reconcile them with what had just happened.

“Right,” he said hoarsely.

“Good,” said Potter. His face softened again, a hand reaching up to brush his fingers along Draco’s thoroughly ravished lips. They sparked under the touch. “Don’t ever forget it.”

And then he pulled away, and turned, and made for the door. And was gone without another word.

Draco stood in his sitting room, his legs shaky under him, stroking his own lips, where he could almost still feel Potter’s fingers.

No, that little lesson was not one he was going to forget in a hurry.

***

_I kissed Harry Potter._

Draco stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, watching the light of the dawn slowly encroach through the window.

 _I_ kissed _Harry fucking Potter. I full-out_ snogged _him._

Well, technically, Potter had kissed him, but Draco was all too aware of how he had practically begged for it (that was Potter’s thing, wasn’t it, getting men to beg?) and how he had been an enthusiastic participant the moment Potter’s mouth had touched his.

He rubbed at his lips again, as he’d been doing all night. They felt fuller than before somehow, even now, though the kiss had been hours ago.

 _I should feel humiliated_. Potter had stood there and told Draco he was going to seduce him, and then he’d gone and done it, and Draco had just let him! He’d trembled under Potter’s touch like a virgin; he’d gasped and moaned; he’d ground against Potter with wanton need. He should feel completely and utterly mortified.

But he didn’t. He just felt… _good._ And a little aroused.

Potter really was some kind of genius. How did he know exactly what Draco needed in that moment, to erase the guilt and embarrassment of his aborted tryst with Rick (the Prick – Draco had to smile at that), to make him feel not just physically good, but… good about himself?

Because that had been the goal, Draco was sure of it. Potter had intended for Draco to feel desired, sexy, wanted. The Gryffindor had hardly tried to hide his own interest or arousal; he hadn’t laughed arrogantly at the sounds Draco had made. If anything, he seemed to only get more turned on, more intoxicated, the more Draco reacted to him.

The seduction, the kiss, they weren’t about power; they were about empowerment. Potter wanted to _give_ Draco power, not have power over him.

It struck Draco as radical, that idea. It was…. revolutionary. It wasn’t how he had been encouraged to think of sex at all, in the past, but he liked it. He liked it a lot.

***

When he went down to the Great Hall for breakfast that morning Potter was already there, sitting next to Vector and across from Francesca. Draco vacillated about what to do. It would be bad form to try and avoid Potter after what had happened; it just didn’t feel right. On the other hand, he wasn’t entirely ready to seek the other man out in any obvious way. He was still figuring out _how_ to react to that kiss, what he wanted to do about it.

Francesca made the decision for him when she spotted him and invited him over. He waved and came to sit next to her.

“Good morning, Draco,” she said pleasantly.

“Good morning,” he replied, noticing that Potter had glanced up from his conversation with Vector to look at him. Draco’s stomach flipped as their eyes met, as Potter licked his lips unconsciously, as if remembering the kiss, before he bit his bottom lip and turned back to hear what Vector was saying. Draco sat down, reminding himself to breathe.

“How was your night?” Francesca asked him, passing the potatoes his way.

“Very enjoyable,” Draco said, clearing his throat.

“What did you get up to?”

“I just went into London with a friend, had a couple of drinks.” Draco helped himself to breakfast, not even really paying attention to what he was scooping onto his plate. “I wanted to get off the grounds for a while.”

“That sounds lovely,” Francesca said.

“How about you?”

“Oh, I was being dreadfully dull this weekend, I’m afraid. I just stayed in and marked homework.”

“Well, we all have to do that sometimes, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do,” she agreed. “Though I would greatly enjoy a jaunt to London. If you ever have it in mind to go again, I would be happy to join you.”

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Or really anywhere you had it in mind to venture off to.”

Draco took a sip of tea to help him avoid heaving a very large sigh. Francesca _was_ being quite obvious, especially for a Slytherin. She must have thought him incredibly daft and oblivious, if she believed he hadn’t picked up the signals already.

Had he led her on in some way, led her to believe that there could be something between them? He didn’t remember being anything more than friendly. Then again, the line between friendly and flirtatious was often blurry. Perhaps Francesca was seeing what she wanted to see, rather than what was really there, which was that Draco, while he greatly admired the woman, could not bring himself to feel more than platonic affection for her.

When it came to Potter, on the other hand…

Their interactions had buzzed with energy from the beginning, the smallest moments, looks, smiles leaving Draco reeling for hours, though he was hardly willing to acknowledge it at the time. Those subtle touches as they got Draco ready for the club had been even more charged, stirring up desires in Draco he’d thought might never resurface after his wife’s betrayal.

And then there was the kiss.

It felt ridiculous to even think it, but the way it had felt… Draco had never been kissed like that. He’d never felt like that. Not with the girls he’d snogged in school, not with the woman he had courted before his parents arranged his marriage to Astoria.

Not even with Astoria.

It had been desire, pure and simple, unself-conscious, unhindered by his tendency for over-analysis. He’d been able to let go, just feel rather than think.

 _Maybe I’m even more interested in men than I thought_ , Draco mused as he asked Francesca questions about her students, keeping her talking so he could observe Potter across the table unhindered.

The man’s mouth was distracting. While Draco nodded and hummed along to Francesca’s words, he watched Potter take a bite of sausage, chewing and licking his lips before wiping a drop of fat off his bottom lip with a finger. He put the finger against his mouth and sucked on the pad, and Draco felt his cock springing to life at the sight.

_Sweet Merlin._

“Draco?”

“Hm?” Draco asked, giving Francesca his attention again.

“Have you had the same problem with Miss Jacoby as I have? Have you noticed her work falling off recently?”

“To be honest, I have yet to see truly exceptional work from her,” Draco said, thinking quickly. “However it has been worse the past week. My understanding is she’s having some boyfriend troubles.”

“Ah, yes, well that accounts for it then,” Francesca said airily. “A teenage girl is perfectly useless if the boy she fancies isn’t giving her the attention she desires.”

“Boys are undoubtedly as bad,” Draco said. “If not worse.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” he said with a smile, “from experience.”

She grinned at him then, putting the full force of her attraction behind it, and Draco immediately felt a stab of regret.

 _You’re barking up the wrong tree, love,_ he wanted to tell her. _There’s nothing for you here. And there won’t be for a long time._

He hadn’t given up hope that his attraction to women would resurface. The fact that he could still feel sexual desire at all was promising.

But it was a man – namely, Potter – who had been responsible for that desire at every turn, and if he was going to fulfill it, get the release he needed, he was going to have to go to the source.

***

Pansy Parkinson had been Draco’s first, not because either of them was particularly mad for the other, but because they’d known each other forever, and there had been no secrets between them.

There was no pressure to perform _well_ , which was exactly what Draco needed at the time. Pansy had been intended for Theo Nott from the age of ten, and Draco had been intended for Daphne Greengrass since his third year at Hogwarts. Technically, they were supposed to remain “pure” for their future spouses, but it was one of those things that wasn’t talked about, young purebloods “practicing” with each other in order to be more experienced when it really mattered.

Draco’d had every intention of practicing. He wasn’t about to go into a marital union at a disadvantage. Pansy felt much the same, though she only allowed him to go as far as oral when they were in school, given that they were only fifteen at the time. If it hadn’t been for the Dark Lord and the war, they might have gone farther in their final years. But with everything that happened it wasn’t until Pansy came for a visit during Draco’s post-war house arrest that the deal was finally sealed. It had been pleasurable, but mostly informative, and after a few more rounds they decided they were satisfied with the experience they had gained. Pansy went off to marry Theo, and Draco prepared for his union with Daphne.

But then Daphne had broken the contract and run off with a French half-blood named Luc, and Draco had been free to search out a love match for a couple of years, while the Malfoys were in negotiations with the Greengrasses about how the latter was going to remedy the broken contract. He’d found a promising potential partner in a Ravenclaw one year his junior name Emerence. She was a Selwyn, and, though not a Slytherin as his parents would have preferred, her family was part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, so they would have had no real cause to object.

Not for the first time, Draco wondered how things would be different if he had married her instead. But before it ever got that far the Greengrasses had offered their younger daughter, and the elder Malfoys had put immense pressure on Draco to accept. She was a Slytherin, with the kind of looks that would provide the prototypical Malfoy heir, and with such a union both the Malfoys and the Greengrasses could save face after Daphne’s embarrassing indiscretion. So Draco had agreed.

Biggest mistake of his life. But there it was.

But he wasn’t going to dwell on that. He still had a whole life, a whole future he could build with someone else someday. And in the meantime, he could maintain his sanity by enjoying himself with men.

Which was where Potter came into the picture.

Thinking about Pansy, about what they had been to each other, gave Draco inspiration. He’d been naïve to think that he could simply go out and fuck a stranger. It just wasn’t how he was built. He understood now what he needed from Potter, the role that the Gryffindor could fill that no one else could.

Besides, he greatly wanted to snog the man again, and this would allow him to do that. And much more.

He approached Potter the following day much the same as he had the week before. He had to wait outside the classroom a few minutes, while Potter had a quick discussion with a student, but the moment it was empty save for the teacher Draco entered, closing and magically locking the door behind him.

When he heard the lock click he turned to find Potter watching him from the chair behind his desk. The two stared at each other across the classroom, neither of them moving for a moment. When Draco finally decided to approach, Potter observed him with wary eyes, his lips slightly parted and his whole body tense, almost springloaded.

 _He doesn’t know why I’m here._ Draco realized. Of course, he wouldn’t know the conclusions Draco had come to over the past twenty four hours. It could very well have been that Draco had thought it over and decided he was angry with Potter for trying to seduce him. Potter probably thought it just as likely that Draco would hex him as kiss him, after what had happened Saturday.

_I should correct his misconceptions. I should do something to let him know how much I liked it._

On the other hand, he was rather enjoying the crackling tension in the room, the thick anticipation in the air, and so he took his time, coming around the desk with slow, steady steps and stopping in front of the chair where Potter still sat, unmoving. Draco leaned forward, placing a hand on each of the armrests, his face only inches from Potter’s. His eyes raked Potter’s face, taking in every delectable detail, deciding how he wanted to approach this.

He thought he saw a shift in those green eyes then, a moment of understanding. Potter was starting to realize which way the scales were tipping, starting to trust that he wasn’t going to be hexed after all.

Which just left the kissing option. And Draco was perfectly fine with that. He hoped Potter was too. He would just have to find out.

One of Draco’s hands lifted and traced the lines of Potter’s tie. He loosened it a little, pulling part of it out from under Potter’s robes, enough at least to get a good grip. And then he pulled.

Potter rose out of his chair with a surprising amount of grace for someone who had just been yanked by the neck. Draco let the man get his bearings a second before he pulled on the tie again, bringing their mouths together.

Draco kept the pressure hard, putting his whole body into it, but he waited until Potter put his arms around his waist, showing how much he wanted this, before he opened his mouth and deepened the kiss. Potter moaned and Draco took advantage, delving his tongue inside as Potter pressed their bodies together, his hands coming up to grip Draco’s shoulder blades.

It was a different kiss than their first: more aggressive, certainly, and more desperate. But it was just as hungry and just as good.

 _I was right about this_ , Draco thought with satisfaction as he sucked on Potter’s bottom lip. It hadn’t been a fluke, a strange confluence of events that led to one glorious, ephemeral moment. There was something here, something deeply rooted and undeniable. Something that went past one strange night and one delicious kiss.

A natural chemistry. The thing Potter always talked about. Perhaps it had been there since they were boys, and there had just been too much in the way at the time for them to know it.

It firmed Draco’s resolve. He knew what he wanted. Now he had to find out if Potter was open to the idea. Draco pulled away.

“Did I get it right?” he asked, out of breath.

Potter opened his eyes slowly, and Draco had to smile at the rather dazed – one might even say intoxicated – sheen in them. “What?”

“I won’t pretend to be as good at sexual Legilimency as your are, Potter,” Draco said, letting himself continue to smile as Potter licked his swollen lips. “So I had to take a guess at how _you_ might like to be kissed. So, did I guess right?”

Potter laughed, a free, delighted sound, and tugged Draco closer again. “You got it exactly right.” He leaned in, his eyes flitting to Draco’s mouth with clear intentions, but Draco pressed lightly against his chest, stopping him.

“Wait,” he said.

“For what?” Potter asked, his mouth still half-reaching for Draco’s.

“I have a… proposal of sorts.”

“Does it involve snogging you into next week, and then maybe doing some other things, besides?” Potter asked with a grin. “Because if it does, I accept.”

“It involves that, yes,” said Draco, laughing. He bit his lip. “It involves whatever you see fit to teach me.”

Potter’s eyes widened a fraction, one side of his mouth curving into a small but intrigued smile. “Teach you?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “Because I’ve figured it out, what’s holding me back." He took a deep breath. "I don’t like to take risks. I don’t like to do something unless I already know I’m good at it. And to find out if I’m good at it I try it first somewhere safe, somewhere I won’t be judged. Sex is no exception. I learned how to please a woman with someone I trusted, back at Hogwarts. I made sure to learn with someone who would be patient with me. I want that again. I don’t know what’s it like to be with men. I don’t know how to please them; I don’t even know what _I_ like. But I want to learn. And I want you to teach me. We’re obviously good together, that much is clear. I think we’d really enjoy ourselves.”

“You trust me that much?” Potter’s tone was half moved, half disbelieving.

“Yes, I do. I don’t know why, but I do. Even with our history…” He shook his head. “There is just something about you, isn’t there?”

“I don’t know what you mean exactly,” said Potter, “but you _can_ trust me.”

“I know.”

Potter studied Draco carefully. His hands had loosened their grip, though they hadn’t released Draco completely. They dropped to Draco’s hips as Potter relaxed in thought. “So we would simply be lovers, essentially.”

“Not in exactly the sense you’re used to,” Draco replied. “We wouldn’t be exclusive, of course. Far be it for me to keep you from your adoring fans.” Potter gave him a mock glare, and Draco fought a smile. “But we wouldn’t be public either. This would be strictly between us and no one else. Not because I’m ashamed, mind you, but because it would complicate things for me with many of the people in my life, and at the moment I don’t know if I’ll like being with men enough for it to be worth that hassle. So I want to keep it under wraps, which means no dates at fancy restaurants or picnics in the park. Nothing like that.”

“Sex, pure and simple,” Potter summarized.

“Yes. No strings attached.”

“And I’ll… teach you what I know about sex with men.”

“Help me get comfortable with the idea certainly. Help build my confidence. And help me see sex the way _you_ see it. I want the outlook you have, Potter, not just the skills.”

“And when I’ve taught you all I can?”

“Then we walk away, no hard feelings. We’ll both go off to please other lovers and, if you like, never speak of it again.”

Potter took a step back, creating some distance between them, as if to be able to look at Draco fully. He sat against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“A secret, non-exclusive, purely sexual teacher/student relationship.”

“Think of yourself as a master of gay sex, if you like, Potter. And I’ll be your apprentice.”

That description was intended to make Potter laugh, but the man didn’t, only chewed on the inside of his cheek in contemplation.

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said.

Draco felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “You’ll… think about it.”

“That’s right.”

“But I…” Draco swallowed, suppressing the lump of disappointment that had formed in his throat. “I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”

“Oh, I do,” Potter said, his face breaking into a grin. “You should have no reason to doubt that. But it’s like you said, this arrangement wouldn’t exactly be something I’m used to. You’ve put very specific conditions on it. I have to think about those, and if I have my own conditions.”

“I see.”

“I spent the first eighteen years of my life thinking very little about what I wanted or needed. But I don’t do that anymore. I like to give others what they want, when I can, but what I want is just as important. You’ve told me what you want. Now let me think about what I want. Then we can talk and see if something can be arranged.”

It all sounded so very reasonable, so very _Slytherin_ , that Draco had to simply stare at Potter for a few seconds. Then he took a step forward, close enough for them to touch again, though neither made a move to do so.

“There’s so much more to you than meets the eye, Potter,” Draco said softly. “I’m finally learning that, though I’m sorry it took so long.” His eyes searched Potter’s face, watching the small twitch of his eyebrows that indicated surprise. “Take some time to think, then,” he said. “And when you’re ready, find me, and we’ll decide what this is.” He gave Potter a small but amused smile. “I hope you won’t keep me waiting too long, though. I’m _very_ eager to learn from you.”

He saw Potter fight a smile of his own, and that was enough, for now. He turned to go, knowing he had intrigued Potter, at least. Now he simply had to wait.


	5. Lesson 5: The Laws of Friction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing comments as always! The Drarry smut begins in earnest now, so enjoy!

_All right, let’s talk. My quarters, tonight, 10 o’clock? It’s down the corridor from Gryffindor tower, the wooden door to the right of the statue of the gryphon._

_-H_

 

Draco stared at the note, smoothing a thumb over it. He’d just found it tucked into one of his Potions books when his last class had released. How Potter had snuck it in there, Draco didn’t know. It was probably during either breakfast or lunch; Draco had been in his classroom all day save for meals.

In either case, it was what he had been waiting for all week. He’d tried to be patient, but he couldn’t help paying careful attention to Potter’s behavior, looking for some sign of where he was going to land regarding Draco’s proposal. But Draco had picked up nothing from his observations. Potter was friendly as usual to him when they crossed paths day to day, and appeared to be neither avoiding him nor specifically seeking him out. It was making Draco a little barmy.

But now he had this, the note. Why Potter had chosen this method of communication, rather than simply finding him in person, Draco could only guess at. But he couldn’t help but feel that the implications were promising. Surely Potter wouldn’t have invited Draco to his quarters if he were going to outright reject him. And if they were going to be alone, in a locked room, together, with very little chance of being disturbed, Draco had to believe that perhaps talking might not be all that they would do.

He had patrol that night, unfortunately. It was the early shift, that started at two in the morning, meaning he could meet Potter and have a fair few hours with him before his shift started. It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t want to postpone. He was too anxious to hear what Potter had to say, and he was getting rather tired of merely wanking to thoughts of the brunet before bed. He wanted the real thing.

***

When he saw Potter at dinner, the Gryffindor caught his eye and raised his eyebrows, as if asking a silent question.

 _Did you get my note?_ _Are you coming tonight?_

Draco tried very hard not to smile as he nodded. Potter, however, seemed to feel no need to hold back, and offered up a wide grin of his own, one that did funny things to Draco’s insides. He licked his lips and watched Potter’s eyes darken, following the small movement of Draco’s tongue.

_All good signs._

He tore his eyes away, sitting down next to Babbling, who immediately started engaging him in conversation. It was a good thing too, Draco felt, because he needed a distraction, something to get him through the next few hours.

10 o’clock couldn’t come fast enough as it was.

***

It was 10:02 when Draco knocked on Potter’s door. He’d made himself wait, pacing the corridor for a minute, trying to get his nerves under control and also trying to avoid appearing too eager. He had meant to wait longer, meant to take his time changing out of his robes and walking from his quarters to Potter’s. But they weren’t all that far apart, and it hadn’t taken him long at all.

And he couldn’t wait anymore. So he knocked.

Potter opened the door only a few moments later. “Good evening, Draco,” he said. “Come on in.” He stood aside to let Draco pass.

“Thank you,” Draco said. He looked about the room, to see that there was a strong fire going in the hearth, and that Potter’s rooms were laid out very much like Draco’s, though the sitting room was perhaps a bit bigger, and there was more than just books lining the walls. He saw Potter’s famous Firebolt propped against a bookcase, as well as what looked to be a practice dummy for dueling standing in one corner. Potter still made sure to keep up on his dueling skills from his Auror days, Draco supposed.

“Have a seat,” Potter offered, gesturing to the sofa in front of the fire. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Ogden’s?”

“Perfect.”

Draco sat down on one end of the sofa, giving him a good angle by which to watch Potter as he opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

The man was in fine form tonight. Though he was simply wearing black trousers and a green jumper, the way the clothes fit him, and the enticing shape of his body, made him look mouth-watering anyway.

 _How could I have ever thought myself purely straight,_ Draco wondered, _with something like this to admire, right in front of me?_ The powers of denial and of familial pressure were apparently very strong indeed, for him to have avoided this revelation for so long.

As if he could feel Draco staring, Potter turned to look at him, his smile small but knowing. Draco felt himself flush, and he looked away from Potter’s gaze. He spotted a portrait above the fireplace, and saw that it was empty.

“Whose portrait is that?” he asked, to make conversation.

“It’s Sirius’,” said Potter. “Or one of them. I put up one in Grimmauld Place as well, so he has access to me whether I’m at home or at school.”

Draco nodded. It was perfectly reasonable that Potter would want to be able to talk to the memory of his godfather. Draco had wanted the same thing, after the war, and had installed a portrait of Severus in his study in the manor. It was empty a lot, though, since the man spent a good portion of his time in his Hogwarts portrait.

 _I could go talk to him in the Headmistress’ office_ , he realized. He would enjoy that, though how Severus’ portrait would react if he found out that Draco wanted to sleep with Harry Potter of all people… well, he could only imagine the horror that would cross the man’s sallow face at that.

Potter handed him his drink, interrupting his thoughts.

“Something funny?” he asked as he sat down as well.

“Hm?”

“You were smiling.”

“Oh, I was just thinking about my own godfather. I have a portrait of him at my home as well, and he has a portrait at Hogwarts.”

“Of course,” said Harry.

Draco looked at him in surprise.

“Your godfather was Snape, right?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

Potter tilted his head, thinking. “I’m not sure. Maybe something was said at his funeral, in reference to it.” He shrugged. “Stuck in my mind, somehow.”

“Well, anyway, I was just thinking that I hadn’t spoken to him in a while, and I was wondering what he would think of… well… everything that’s happened, I suppose.”

“You were wondering what he would think about _me_ ,” Potter accused good-naturedly. “ _That’s_ what was making you smile.”

“Yes,” Draco admitted, smiling again. “What he would think about… you and me. The little we’ve already done. And what... might happen.”

“He would be horrified,” Potter said, looking like that notion pleased him immensely.

“Yes, he would,” Draco agreed.

“Sirius wasn’t so shocked when I told him you were coming over,” Potter said. “But he was never one to pass a lot of judgments about my life choices. He’s always allowed me to do what makes me happy without much fuss. When it was becoming clear that I intended to be rather… promiscuous for a while, he simply grinned and told me to use protection so I didn’t get anyone up the duff.”

Draco snorted into his whiskey.

“He was kidding, of course. He knows I’m gay.”

“And he doesn’t care.”

“Not one lick,” Potter said. “But I make a point of only keeping people in my life who have no problem with it.”

“Of course,” said Draco, taking a sip of his drink. “I notice he doesn’t stick around to watch the show, though.”

“No, he takes off and gives me my privacy, if I have a guest. But he doesn’t want to watch that anyway.”

“I imagine not.”

They both sipped on their drinks a moment before Potter spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking about your proposal.”

Draco felt his stomach flip, but he was mostly glad they were cutting to the chase. “I would hope so.”

“I’ve been thinking about that… and I’ve been thinking about _you._ A _lot_.”

There was something in the way Potter said it that made Draco’s blood hum, like he was implying he’d been doing more than thinking, like he’d been _fantasizing._ Or even… wanking?

 _Has he made himself come, thinking about me, the way I do thinking about him?_ The thought made Draco’s cock twitch in his trousers.

“I want to make this work,” Potter said. He took a sip of his drink, and his tone became more business-like. “So, I accept your terms, for the most part. I agree that we should be non-exclusive. That’s always better for me. And I also understand why you would want to keep this a secret. Going out with me in public on a regular basis is going to get you noticed, and if it was obvious that we were sleeping together, the press would certainly make a meal out of it. So it’s better that we keep it within Hogwarts and don’t tell anyone. It could also get awkward for the rest of the staff and the students if they knew, and I’d like to avoid that.”

“Good,” said Draco, hope thundering heavy and sweet in his chest. _This is really going to happen._

“But I have some terms of my own.”

“I figured you would,” Draco said, taking a sip of his drink and watching Potter expectantly.

“Firstly, I want to set the pace. You said you want to _learn_ from me, not just gain experience from being with a man. If that’s really true, if what you want is more… how did you put it? My… outlook?” Draco nodded. “Right. Then you must let me be the guide. Think of it as I’m… in charge of the curriculum, if you like.”

Draco laughed, and Potter laughed with him. “That’s fair,” Draco said, after a moment. “It’s like I said. I… trust you.”

“Good. Then I also hope you’ll trust me enough to tell me if there is something you definitely _don’t_ want to do. Even in the moment, if you realize you don’t like something, or if it’s moving too fast, just say so. I can always adjust the… curriculum, as it were, so long as you’re telling me the truth and not keeping things from me.”

“Also fair,” Draco said. “I will certainly tell you if there’s something I don’t want to do.”

“Off the top of your head, _is_ there anything you know you don’t want to do? Just so I can plan ahead.”

That made Draco pause. He realized he hadn’t really given much thought to all of the activities that he and Potter might get up to together. Of course, part of the reason for that was that he was unfamiliar with many aspects of sex between two men, which was really why he was coming to Potter in the first place. Still, he considered what he did know.

“I suppose I find the idea of…” He scratched his chin, feeling awkward. He still wasn’t used to talking about sex aloud in this much detail. “…of being… fucked, you know, being the one who’s _being_ fucked… I find it rather… intimidating, to be honest.”

Potter nodded. “Understandable. A lot of men feel that way. Many of them prefer to be tops exclusively, and you may find out you’re one of them. Or you might, as you get more comfortable, feel like you want to try being the bottom. But that can be far down the road, if you want it at all.”

Draco let out a relieved breath. “Good.”

“I don’t have any qualms about bottoming for you,” Potter said, and Draco caught himself gasping.

“Oh,” he managed, after a few seconds.

“You’re surprised?” Potter asked.

“I… suppose I imagined you as a… top,” Draco said, trying on the lingo.

Potter grinned. “I am, most of the time. But I have bottomed before, and I enjoy it. Granted it’s been a long time.” He took a sip of whiskey. “But that’s down the road too. I don’t want to get into fucking right away. There’s so much we can do before that. It’s really just one piece of a much larger picture.”

“All right,” Draco said. He could work with that. The thought of fucking Potter was… well, honestly, incredibly arousing. He’d seen that arse in action already, and he definitely wanted a piece of it, since Potter was offering. But he was willing to roll with this “curriculum” and see what other tricks Potter had in his repertoire.

“Anything else you don’t want to do, or are even just not sure about?” Potter asked him.

“I don’t think so. I’m going into this with an open mind. I think I’d like to at least try most things. Otherwise, how will I know what I really like?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Potter said, downing the rest of his drink. He stood to get another. “Can I top you off?” he asked.

“Sure.”

Potter poured another finger of whiskey into Draco’s glass, plus another for himself.

“So, to the next condition,” Potter said, coming to sit down again. “What you said, about walking away with no hard feelings, and never speaking of it again… Well, honestly, it rubbed me the wrong way, a bit.”

“How so?”

“Your implication seemed to be that we would fool around and fuck and do whatever we felt like doing, until one or both of us wanted to end it, and then we’d just pretend it never happened.”

Draco hesitated before answering, trying to parse out what part of that Potter found offensive. It had to be the final bit, surely. “I meant that if you wanted to pretend it never happened, we could do that. I didn’t say we had to.”

“Good. Because that never works, you know, the pretending thing. I don’t care how casual it is, when you sleep with someone, it changes things. Now, our friendship is new, which is better, in a way. The fact that things will change won’t feel so strange. Plus I think there has been some sexual tension between us since you arrived here, but maybe that was just on my end.”

“No, mine too,” Draco said softly. If Potter could admit it outright like that, so could he.

“Right. So the transition into sleeping together won’t be strange, but out of it… well… that’s when things get complicated.”

“You’re speaking from experience, I take it.”

“Sure. I’ve had a few bad breakups in my day. Sex can really make a mess of things. The key is honesty, I think, and being clear about what we want from the beginning. I think we’re doing that. But I also wanted to make it clear that while I’m not going to reveal to anyone else that we slept together, between us I’m certainly going to acknowledge that it happened. And I’m not going to just start avoiding you because it’s suddenly awkward. We work together; we’re going to be living in the same place nine months out of the year, especially if you decide to stay on here. What I really don’t want is for this to become messy and for us to have to avoid each other while we’re at Hogwarts. That’s just bad for everyone.”

“I agree,” Draco said. He hadn’t actually thought about it before now, but Potter made a good point.

“In truth, I’d like us to continue to be friends,” Potter said. “Which brings me to the final thing I want to say.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve slept with a lot of men. I will readily admit to it and am not ashamed of it. I’ve always made a point of treating my partners well and doing right by them, no matter how long we’re together, and I think that’s more important than how many partners I happen to have had.”

“Sure,” Draco said, surprised by the suddenly fervent quality of Potter’s voice.

“I also only sleep with people I really like, as people. I’m not much into having quickies in bathrooms or taking a bloke home for a one-off. I like spending time with the people I sleep with. I like talking to them, getting to know them. That’s part of the enjoyment for me. I know that you and I can’t date publically, but I’d like to think that we can… that it doesn’t just have to be about sex all the time. That gets old. I don’t want to just get off with you, Draco. Because I like you. You’re intelligent, and you say interesting things I’ve never thought about before, and you’re honest and brave even though you don’t believe you are half the time. Not to mention you have one of those dry senses of humor that I just… can’t get enough of.” He met Draco’s eyes. “If we’re going to do this, then we’re going to have fun while we do it, and we’re going to enjoy it, and enjoy each other. I have no interest in sex that feels like a business transaction. So we’re going to let it be natural, and be what it is. And when we feel like we’re done with the sexual aspect of it, we’re going to agree to continue to be friends, and spend time together, even if we’re not sleeping together anymore. Otherwise I’m not interested.”

Draco sat very still and quiet, trying to absorb all that. On the one hand, Potter’s words regarding what he liked about Draco sent a warmth through him that wasn’t merely sexual and was actually quite gratifying. On the other hand, the friendship Potter was describing for after the fact made Draco a bit nervous. Could that really work? He didn't have nearly as much experience with exes as Potter did, but his intuition told him that friendships could become quite problematic after a breakup. And yet Potter seemed convinced it would work. And he knew better than Draco about these things. And perhaps it wouldn't be all that strange, considering they were coming into this arrangement knowing it wouldn't last. It wouldn't even be a  _breakup_ , really.

Not to mention, this seemed to be a dealbreaker, and Draco had come too far, had become too attached to this idea, to let it go.

“Potter…” he began.

“ _Harry_ ,” Potter interrupted him. “My name is Harry. If we’re going to be getting to know each other as intimately as I believe we both want to, we’re going to use our first names. I’ll be damned if I let you cry out my surname while I’m making you come, Draco, I can tell you that right now.”

“All right… Harry,” Draco said, half of him amused at Potter’s indignation and the other half reveling in all the possible ways that Potter would be making him come in the near future. “First names only, and we’ll agree to be friends during and after.”

Potter eyed him a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he believed that Draco meant it. Draco tilted his head, watching him, wondering what was hidden behind that look.

“You doubt me?”

Potter pursed his lips, and it made Draco think about how much he’d like to be done with the conversation and move onto the snogging. He put his glass down on the side table and moved closer to Potter.

“You didn’t answer. That’s not a good sign.”

“It’s not that I doubt you,” Potter said, his eyes traveling over Draco’s face. “You’re just difficult to read, sometimes.”

“And what exactly are you trying to find out?”

“Honestly?”

“Well, yes, it’s night one, Po – Harry. I would like to think we’d start off honest, at least.”

“I’m trying to figure out if you even like me.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at that, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Potter said. “I’ve just told you I like you, and what I like as well, and you’ve said nothing in return. Which perhaps shouldn’t surprise me, as I’ve been the one to initiate every stage of development in this friendship, essentially. This entire time I’ve had no idea if you’re simply putting up with me or if you actually like being in my company. Half the time I think it’s one thing and half the time the other.”

Draco allowed himself a soft smile as he reached up and ran a finger along the collar of Potter’s jumper. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like you,” he said.

“I’d like to believe that’s true.”

“It is true.” Draco leaned in closer, so they were only inches apart.

“But you’ve also made it clear that sex is the priority for you, and it made me wonder.”

“Well, stop wondering,” Draco said with a coy smile. Potter rolled his eyes. “You want me to spell it out for you, then? Is that it? You want the truth?”

“Of course.”

“The truth is I… resented the hell out of you when I first saw you were teaching here.” Potter’s eyes widened incredulously, but he didn’t interrupt, and Draco pressed on. “You were happy and confident, and everyone loved you. And you looked so fit and… sexy.” His finger ghosted over the skin of Potter’s collarbone, and he saw the brunet’s expression soften. “It felt totally unfair, because I felt like such shit at the time. And then you kept coming to talk to me, and you asked me for drinks, and made it very difficult to dislike you. And I resented you even more for that.” He grinned and Potter laughed, his face inching closer to Draco’s. “But somewhere along the way I actually…” Draco wasn’t sure how much of this he really wanted to admit. But it seemed Potter wanted – or perhaps _needed_ – to hear it. So he ran his hand up to cup the back of Potter’s neck and continued. “At some point I realized that resenting you was pointless, so I stopped. And then I found I actually enjoyed your company. You can make me laugh, which was not something I expected, and you’re so…” He trailed off, unsure how to put it into words without making it sound _too_ romantic. He licked his lips and watched Potter do the same. “You are many of the things I expected you to be: passionate, honest… good. But you’re also… free, and unapologetic, and… _wise_. And you’ve got this bloody devious streak that _I_ can’t get enough of.” Potter was close enough now that Draco could feel his brief laugh as a breath of air on his lips. “So, yes, _Harry_ , to answer your question, I like you.” He pressed forward that final, tiny distance, enough that their lips were brushing together. “I _want_ you.”

Potter seemed to be relishing the tension; he didn’t reply, nor did he complete the kiss. He let Draco hover there, waiting to see who would break it first.

Draco did. He couldn’t help himself. He needed to taste Potter again, and he’d already waited long enough, as far as he was concerned.

It didn’t take much more pressure to be suddenly kissing Potter properly, sliding his lips against the other man’s silky ones. The brunet responded immediately, running a hand up into Draco’s hair and grabbing on. Draco felt a thrill go through him, almost like the kind he felt when riding a broom into the wide open sky, only the wideness and openness was inside him rather than out.

Draco opened his mouth so their tongues could collide, spurred on by Potter’s enthusiasm for him. One of his hands gripped into the softness of Potter’s jumper while the other roamed the solid muscles of Potter’s back. He groaned at the thought of how much he wanted to feel that skin for himself, and at the realization that he _could_.

The hand sneaked under the bottom edge of the jumper and past the t-shirt underneath, finding a line of warm bare skin. His fingers brushed along it teasingly, making Potter’s lips shudder against his, before Draco started to snake the hand upwards, under the fabric. The skin he found there was an expanse of smoothness punctuated with thin bands of scarring that were slightly bumpy under his fingers. Rather than being repulsed, though, Draco felt a surge of excitement at the intimacy of being able to trace those unseen scars and make Potter shiver with his touch.

“ _Draco,_ ” Potter gasped, and that sound emboldened him, and he suddenly felt he had to be closer.

He pitched forward, practically tackling Potter until the brunet was lying underneath him on the sofa. Potter released a breathy laugh but seemed to have no complaints, as his hands were starting to explore Draco’s abdomen as well, pulling at the button-down shirt that was tucked into Draco’s trousers.

In this position they were finally flush against each other, and Draco could properly feel the landscape of Potter’s muscles, not to mention the rather obvious erection that was digging into his hip. Draco was already far gone, but feeling the signs of Potter’s desire for him made him harder still, almost painfully so. He found himself rocking against Potter automatically, the need for friction impossible to quell.

It was then that Potter decided to take control, managing to slide out from under Draco and flip them over. He stared down at the blond, his eyes bright and his lips red and swollen from the snogging. He smiled, his gaze darkening with mischief.

“Lesson one,” he said, his voice still mostly breath. “Coming with your clothes still on.”

Draco laughed, at least until Potter slid up him just a bit farther and rutted their hard cocks together. Then he was moaning, amazed at how bloody brilliant that felt, like sweet fire. He hooked an ankle around Potter’s calf to brace himself, and returned Potter’s well placed rocking with movements of his own, all the while reaching for Potter’s mouth again.

He found it, and they snogged openly and messily for a bit as they rocked and rutted, the sweetness, the tension, the _need_ in Draco’s groin slowly building.

But then Potter had other plans, as his mouth drifted from Draco’s lips to his cheek, then, jaw, then neck, sucking and nipping all the way. A clever hand was working at Draco’s shirt, and before he knew it there were buttons undone and a nipple exposed. Potter tongued it, rolling around the nub until it peaked and hardened, before grazing it with his teeth. Sparks of pleasure zipped straight into Draco’s cock, and Draco almost thought he would come from that alone.

“P-P-” Draco stuttered, before remembering, through the fog, what exactly Potter wanted to hear. “H-Harry,” he managed with shuddering breath. “Oh, yes, fuck! Yes.” Potter had the nipple in his mouth and was sucking and sucking.

He was going to come. Draco couldn’t believe that from merely dry-humping Harry Potter on a sofa he was actually going to come, but he was. His entire body was reaching for climax, arching and tightening, finally grabbing onto Potter’s arse and pressing him even closer.

“Oh, Draco!” The need in Potter’s voice was its own aphrodisiac, and so Draco did it again, grinding himself against Potter with abandon and eliciting an actual whimper from the Gryffindor.

“Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Draco repeated as he humped desperately, realizing that his peak was coming, inevitable, and with the all the speed and power of a freight train. “Oh, yes… _yes_ … _oh_!” He held on tight as his orgasm ripped through him, the kind he could feel all the way in his toes. It vaguely registered, as his body shook with a couple of aftershocks, that Potter was gripping him tightly as well, moaning into his neck and thrusting in tiny movements, as if wringing out the last of his pleasure.

Finally spent, Draco felt himself relax into the sofa. There was an undeniable stickiness in his trousers, but other than that he felt bloody fantastic. Potter had collapsed partially on top of him, and he could feel the man’s breath on the skin of his half-exposed collarbone.

They lay there for a bit, panting and listening to the pounding of their hearts, before Potter lifted himself up and gave Draco a peck on the lips.

“I’ll clean us up,” he said.

“Might be a bit of a losing battle,” Draco said, though this didn’t much bother him. He would simply change before his patrol. “Haven’t you ever tried scourgifying semen from fabric? It never works.”

“I have a different method,” said Potter. He waved his wand over them both and Draco felt the cold wetness vanish, leaving him clean and dry.

“How did you…? Nevermind,” Draco said. “Of course you’ve mastered that spell, whatever it is.”

“It’s something I picked up from the Aurors, actually,” Potter replied. “They mainly used it to get blood out of clothing, but it works just as well for this.”

“Come in your pants often, do you?” Draco asked with a grin.

“It’s actually been quite a while since I came like that.” Potter put his wand away and returned to lying half on top of Draco. "But I actually like it. Should do it more often, really."

“I haven’t come like that since I was sixteen,” Draco said. “Brings me back. Makes me feel like a kid again.” They both chuckled lazily, sated and happy. Draco ran his fingers through Potter’s hair as he relaxed further into the sofa, enjoying the weight of Potter’s body on him.

With his eyes closed, he realized how easy it would be for him to drift off into post-orgasmic sleep. But he couldn’t. He had a shift in a couple of hours.

“Help me stay awake,” he said to Potter, who grunted a question in response. “I have the early shift at 2.”

Potter lifted his head to look at him. “I didn’t realize that,” he said. “I would have picked another night.”

“I could have told you,” Draco said. “But I wanted it to be tonight. I didn’t… want to wait.” He realized he was revealing too much in his post-coital daze and cleared his throat. “But now I need help staying awake, otherwise I might miss it.”

Potter reached for his wand again. “Let’s set an alarm, just in case.” Draco arched a brow at him. “You never know,” said Potter. “We still have over two hours. Who knows what sort of activities we might feel like repeating?”

Draco laughed. “If I come again I’ll definitely fall asleep.”

Potter relaxed against him, the alarm now set. “We’ll see,” he said.

“Hmm,” Draco hummed skeptically, but he let it go. He felt his eyes drift closed, all of him soft and languid in the heat of Potter’s body and the fire in front of them.

 _No!_ he reminded himself. _No sleeping!_ He had to do something to keep himself awake. And chatting with Potter, he supposed, was as good an option as any.

“What made you decide you wanted to become an Auror after the war?” he asked out of the silence. He’d always wondered about that, about why, after spending all those years running from and fighting the Dark Lord, Potter would want to go and do it some more with other evil wizards. The idea seemed exhausting to him.

Potter didn’t reply right away, but his fingers were tracing the skin just above the band of Draco’s trousers, and Draco knew he wasn’t asleep. He adjusted himself against Draco after a moment and answered.

“I suppose I didn’t know what else I could possibly do. It seemed like I was made for one thing, and that one thing defined me. It was all I thought I was good at.”

“Catching criminals?”

“Essentially.” Potter lifted his head, looking up at Draco with hazy eyes. “Fighting, dueling, running after people. Being in dangerous situations. It was what I knew. I know it sounds strange to say it, but for a while I was more comfortable being _in_ danger than out of it. Hermione said it was something about the trauma of having Voldemort looming over me for most of my life, how I never really knew what it meant to feel safe.”

“Do you think she was right?”

“I don’t know.” Potter rested his chin on one of his hands. “Hermione likes coming up with theories about things, and most of the time they _sound_ quite good. But sometimes when I really think about them I realize I don’t agree. That particular one I’m in a bit iffy on. After all, I almost always felt safe at Hogwarts.”

“Mm,” Draco said. “Me too. Most of the time.”

“Maybe that’s why I came back here, in the end. I don’t know. I don’t worry much about the why, really. All I knew was, I was tired of being an Auror. The field work, which had always been my favorite part, was starting to wear on me. And I already didn’t like the bit about being stuck behind a desk doing paperwork half the time. I liked bringing suspects in, but I never much liked processing them.” He grinned suddenly. “And I was always a bit pants at interrogation, though I think my skills have improved in that regard.”

Draco tilted his head to look at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I got _you_ to admit that you actually like me, and that’s a real feat, don’t you think?”

Draco pinched him in the side, making him yelp. “Git,” he said.

“Prat,” Potter replied, pinching him back.

Draco laughed and tried to fight him off, but then Potter was snogging him again and exploring the skin exposed by his half-open shirt, and Draco had no interest in resisting _that_.

 _We’ll find plenty of ways to stay awake_ , he thought with satisfaction as he returned the kisses fervently and then rolled them over so he was on top again. _Plenty of ways indeed._

***

Draco was grinning like a fool by the time he left Potter’s quarters to return to his own. They’d spent the past couple of hours snogging, chatting, laughing, and then, as Potter had predicted, frotting themselves to completion once more, this time letting their hands get more involved in order to bring each other off. Not that Draco was complaining. Potter’s warm and calloused hand wrapping around his cock for the first time was a sensation that was likely going to stay with him for a long time.

 _I suppose I really should start calling him ‘Harry,’_ he admitted to himself. _If only to avoid confusion or slips of the tongue._

Potter seemed more like “Harry” now than before, but it was still strange, feeling almost taboo. It would take some getting used to.

Once in his quarters he changed back into his teaching robes and did what he could to fix his hair. His bright eyes and rather red lips, though, he wasn’t sure he could do much about. He did splash some cold water on his face, if only to manage the flush in his cheeks that was still present after the thorough snogging session they’d had right before he left. He kept insisting he had to go on patrol, but Potter’s – _Harry’s_ – lips had been so tempting that he couldn’t bring himself to stop kissing them. It had taken quite a bit of willpower, plus a glance at the clock to see just how close he was cutting it, to finally break away.

 _Merlin, I really am acting like a teenager,_ he thought, but instead of feeling embarrassed about it he just felt rather giddy.

 _Proof of what a couple of orgasms can do for one’s mood_.

He was a bit chagrined, however. to find that that staff member he was taking over for that evening was Francesca, if only because she was bound to notice his good mood more than anyone. She was definitely eyeing him carefully as he approached.

“Pleasant evening so far?” she asked him.

“Pleasant enough,” he replied, fighting a grin with all his might. “And you? No trouble, I hope.”

“Just a couple getting rather handsy in an alcove before curfew,” Francesca replied. “But nothing else.”

“Ah, yes, well, you know how they are. Can’t keep their hands off each other half the time. Kids will be kids, and all that.”

“Indeed,” Francesca said, giving him a funny look. “Anyhow, if I were you I’d start by the library and work your way around that wing. It’s been an hour since I checked that part of the castle.”

“Very good,” Draco said heartily. “Have a lovely rest of your night.”

“You too, Draco,” she replied, and she almost looked on the verge of laughing at him.

 _Oh well,_ Draco thought as he made his way towards the library, no longer particularly concerned. He was in too good a mood to worry about whether Francesca Bianchi found his behavior strange.

He would simply let the night pass quickly, wandering the castle with thoughts of Harry in his head.

***

Draco had always liked the tactility of chalk between his fingers. He couldn’t explain why. There was just something about the dry dust collecting on his skin that made him feel like his intellectual work was in some way physical, like as he instructed students, gathered data, or worked through a problem the layers of white that built up on his thumb and index finger were somehow marking the time he had invested, the figurative sweat equity of a job well done.

He knew many of the students found it strange that he wrote out instructions longhand, rather than magically, but he didn’t care. He did it anyway, just for the small joy of it. If they wanted to judge him for it, they were free to do so.

“Who can tell me,” he said, rolling the chalk between his fingers as he looked around at a classroom full of 4th year students, “how renowned potioneer Agatha Alkew was able to make blood-replenishing potions more marketable at the turn of the 20th century?” He looked around the room, waiting for a hand to pop up. He arched a brow. “No one? Here’s a hint. She changed a key ingredient. What was it?”

He was met with silence, with a few students in the front row shifting uncomfortably in their seats. It was times like these that Draco almost wished he wore spectacles, simply so he could look over them disapprovingly at his students when they showed themselves this ignorant. He sighed.

“Apparently no one has done the reading,” he said drily. “Or perhaps you thought skimming it and simply noting that it was about basic Healing potions would be enough to let you slide through the period? Well, ten points from Hufflepuff and Slytherin both, then.”

There was subdued bemoaning from the Hufflepuffs and cries of indignation from the Slytherins, who apparently thought that a fellow Slytherin would never take points from his own house. How willing Draco was to prove them wrong.

“You’re honestly shocked at that? Shall I make it twenty each instead?”

That shut them up. With a satisfied smile Draco returned to his blackboard, writing out the homework assignment. “Since none of you could tell me that it was in fact the spines of _Solanum_ – common name ‘devil’s thorn’ – that Alkew replaced with Sundew hair, I’ll be expecting a two-foot essay, due next Monday, on the properties of both the _Solanum_ and the Sundew and how their effects compare when used in blood replenishing potions. Anyone who fails to grasp the essential characteristics of each in their essay can expect a night of detention with me scrubbing cauldrons. Are we clear?”

There was another round of groaning at this, but, personally, Draco thought he was being perfectly fair. Slughorn had had a habit of blatant favoritism – that, everyone already knew – but it was also becoming apparent that the man had let pretty much all his students get away with cutting corners. Perhaps he was simply getting apathetic in this final years at Hogwarts. Whatever the reason, he’d trained a student body that was content with doing the minimum when it came to Potions, and Draco’d had enough. He was going to whip his younger students into shape, one way or another.

He dismissed the class (who was all still looking sullen), and sat down behind his desk a moment to record the assignment he’d just given in his lesson planner. It meant more essays to read a week from now, but better that than them all continuing to live in ignorance.

 _At least McNeal will get the question when I have her and the other Gryffindors tomorrow,_ Draco thought, feeling a bit better. He knew at least she would have done the reading. Perhaps he wouldn’t be forced to assign such an extensive essay, if the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws showed themselves to be more knowledgeable than his 4 th years today.

He sensed a presence in the doorway and glanced up. Harry was standing there, watching him. Draco felt his cheeks flush, remembering their quite enjoyable escapades a few nights ago. They’d certainly seen each other since then, had meals together, or chatted briefly between classes. But they hadn’t been alone together yet. Draco could only hope that Harry had come to remedy that.

“You should hear what those students in the corridor are saying about you,” Harry said, his tone full of amusement.

“Calling me a hardarse and a slimy git, I imagine,” Draco said, making a point to seem unfazed by it.

“On the kinder end of things, yes,” Harry said with a laugh, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. “What is it that you did to earn such ire, may I ask?”

“I expected them to do the work I assigned to them.”

Harry feigned shock. “The nerve of you!”

“Yes, quite the tyrant am I.”

Harry laughed, his whole face brightening, and Draco grinned at him.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Professor Potter?”

Harry sucked on his lip, perhaps enjoying the subtext of that, just as Draco had intended. “I’ve brought you something.”

“Oh?”

Harry nodded, then extracted something from his pocket. It was small enough to fit in his palm, and Draco didn’t really get a proper look at it until Harry placed it on the desk in front of him.

It was a folded paper dragon, intricate enough – with scales, teeth, and spines down its back – that it had to have been done by magic.

Draco looked at Harry. “You made that?”

“I did,” said Harry. “But it’s not just decorative. It has a purpose. Watch.”

He took a bit of parchment out of his pocket, borrowed Draco’s quill, and wrote something down on it. Then he tapped the parchment with his wand, and the little dragon reared up, blowing paper smoke out of its tiny nostrils. Draco watched the whole thing, confused.

“Tap your wand on the dragon,” Harry instructed.

Draco did, and the dragon began to unfold itself until it resembled nothing but a flat piece of parchment resting on the desk. Draco loomed over it and saw that there were words written on it.

 _Care to join me for lunch?_ it read.

Draco looked up at Harry again. “All that just to ask me for lunch?” he said.

Harry laughed. “No. I was just demonstrating. Although I _am_ hoping you’ll have lunch with me. But the point is, I can write anything I want to you, anytime I want, and no one will be able to read the message but you.”

It was finally clicking for Draco. “This is a Protean Charm, isn’t it?”

“Two-way,” Harry said nodding. “It works if you want to write to me too. I’ve made it very simple. All you have to do is tap to erase the message I sent. Then write your own and when it’s ready, tap again to send it to me. My folded paper will activate to let me know I have a message, just like your dragon did. This will let us communicate to each other about meeting up without anyone suspecting us. I figured the constantly visiting each other in our classrooms would get a bit… obvious.”

“It’s… brilliant,” Draco said. In truth, it was more than that. It was ingenious, a perfect blend of form and function. Not to mention a lovely, elegant, and rather stunning bit of magic.

“I thought of it after I sent you that note about meeting up and I realized you had no convenient way to reply to me. This seemed like a nice solution.”

“It is,” Draco agreed. “And now I have this exquisite paper dragon to display on my desk.”

Harry smiled, obviously pleased.

“Is yours a dragon as well? Or perhaps a lion,” Draco added, arching a brow.

“No, it’s a stag.” He tapped his wand on his own parchment, and it folded itself into a buck with a full rack of antlers. He held it up for Draco to see.

“Fitting for you, I suppose,” Draco teased.

“It’s the form of my Patronus!” Harry said indignantly before rolling his eyes. “Prat.”

Draco snickered, enjoying Harry’s (mostly exaggerated) annoyance. “Come on, let’s go to lunch. I’m starving.”

“Wait,” Harry said, putting the paper stag in his pocket. “While I have you alone…”

Draco’s stomach flipped with anticipation. “Yes?”

“When can I see you next? Privately, I mean. I have patrol Wednesday and Saturday this week, but any other night would work.”

Draco thought about that, about his own schedule, and also about the fact that he didn’t want to wait too long before he got to spend real time with Harry again. “How about… tonight?”

Harry grinned. “Tonight, then. My rooms? 10 o’clock again?”

Draco nodded. Harry stepped closer.

“Good,” he said softly. Then he leaned in, placing a soft kiss on Draco’s lips that made Draco’s heart stutter in his chest. It was over far too soon. “We probably shouldn’t do much of that in our classrooms anymore, lest we get caught,” Harry said. “But I wanted to, at least once more.”

Draco didn’t reply, only swallowed and nodded again. Harry chuckled.

“Come on. Let’s have lunch.”


	6. Lesson 6: Learning By Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments as always! I have been working diligently on this story trying to finish it (after a bit of a stretch where I was super busy and not particularly inspired and therefore barely writing at all) and your feedback is helping a ton with getting me back on track!
> 
> This chapter is shorter than most in the fic, but still pretty smutty. Obviously.

The moment Draco knocked on Harry’s door for their second evening together, he was pulled inside by eager hands. He heard the door close behind him but didn’t register much else before he was pinned against it and Harry’s lips descended on his. Quite happy to match this more aggressive approach, Draco chuckled against the brunet’s mouth and kissed back with equal fervor, pulling the Gryffindor against him.

He could get used to being trapped like this, he thought. He could get used to the expanse of chest flattening against his, and the hard cock grinding into him, and the warm mouth that seemed intent on consuming him, piece by piece.

Harry pulled away before Draco felt he’d had his fill, which always seemed to be the case, really. But he was grinning at Draco now with open lust, and that was a heady thing all its own.

“Hi,” Harry said.

“Good evening,” Draco replied with a coy smile. “Getting right to the action I see. Not going to offer me a drink this time?”

“If you’d like one…” Harry started to pull away, but Draco grabbed his wrist.

“No. I like it,” he clarified. “Skipping the preamble and going right to tonight’s lesson suits me just fine.”

Harry bit his lip. “All right. Good. Because this is all I’ve been thinking about since last time we were together.”

Draco was amazed at how such a simple admission could make his cock throb. “What do you have in store for me tonight, then, Professor?” he asked. “More dry-humping, or are we moving on?”

Harry went back to grinning. “I rather thought you might like to see me naked.”

Draco swallowed, unable to help it. “Yes,” he said, aware that his voice had gone a bit hoarse. “I would.”

Harry pulled away completely. “Not here,” he said, and turned. “Follow me.”

He was walking in the direction of the bedroom, his bare feet (even that sight was oddly erotic) making not a sound on the soft carpet. Draco followed, keeping his pace steady even though inside he was jumping with nerves and excitement.

The light was better in the bedroom; it seemed Harry had lit all the lamps for the purpose of their lesson.

 _Better to see him by._ Draco had to admire the man’s confidence.

They stood there a moment, Harry near the foot of his bed and Draco only a few steps through the door, watching each other, before Harry raised an eyebrow and said, “Well?”

“Well…”

“You have to unwrap the package if you want to see what’s inside.” Harry’s tone was both amused and suggestive, and Draco smiled and shivered in equal measure.

He closed the distance slowly, watching Harry’s face and stance, the way he appeared relaxed with his arms hanging by his sides. But his back was also straight and poised, and his eyes took in every movement Draco made. When Draco was finally close enough, he could feel the hum of energy that practically surrounded Harry’s body.

“Shall I begin here?” Draco asked softly, reaching up towards the top button of Harry’s crisp, white shirt.

“If you like,” Harry replied.

Draco undid the first button. _Oh, I like_ , he thought, noticing the way the bright whiteness of the shirt set off the olive tone of Harry’s tan skin. _Very much._ He undid another button, revealing a scar in the center of his chest that was oval in shape, as if it had been made by the pendant of a necklace. Draco skimmed the rough skin with the tips of his fingers, but didn’t ask, instead opening the shirt more, exposing the first teasing inch of Harry’s toned abdomen. The final buttons revealed it all, and Draco couldn’t help laying a hand on the warm skin, running over the stomach almost reverently. He’d felt these muscles through Harry’s jumper a few nights ago; he knew they were there. Still, in the flesh this torso was a thing of beauty, even with the small lines of scarring scattered here and there.

Knowing it could only get better once the shirt was completely removed, Draco reached up to Harry’s shoulders, pushing the collar so that the fabric slid down his arms and fell to the floor. Now he had a whole landscape of skin to touch, and he did, running lightly over the sinewy tendons of Harry’s bare shoulders, the arch of his throat, and down to the dusting of dark hair on his sternum. He could feel Harry’s gaze burning into him, and he looked up, finally, to meet his eyes.

“Keep going,” Harry said. “Take off the rest. Then you can explore all you want.”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice, realizing Harry was right. He wanted to touch Harry’s skin _all_ over. He wanted to see the full picture, get the full experience. His hand dropped to the belt of thick, black leather, his eyes still on Harry’s as he made quick work of the buckle with nimble fingers. The brunet’s lips twitched with what Draco thought might be an impressed smile, though his eyes retained all of their heat. As Draco felt out the fly of Harry’s jeans he was confronted with the rigid pole of the brunet’s erection. He pushed it gently aside so he could pull down the zipper unhindered, and he saw Harry’s lips part in a small gasp. Draco gave Harry the smallest of smirks as his hands slid long the loosened waistband of the jeans, pulling on them until they descended on their own, pooling at Harry’s feet.

Harry stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Now he was before Draco in nothing but a set of black briefs that left nothing to the imagination.

 _Unwrap the package indeed_ , Draco thought, his mouth watering at the sight of the erection straining Harry’s underwear. Draco wanted to wrap his fingers around it, stroke it until Harry was practically fucking his hand. He wanted to drop to his knees and press his face into it, lick it to completion. His own cock was twitching with need at the very thought.

But this was a time for restraint. Harry’s instructions, while not explicit, had been clear. Draco was to strip him completely, then spend some time familiarizing himself. He could just sense, the way Harry was standing, still and patient, that he wanted Draco to take his time. Draco could do that. He looked at Harry again.

“Like what you see?” the man asked. “You’re staring hard enough.”

“I haven’t seen everything, yet, have I?” Draco riposted, though this wasn’t strictly true. He’d seen Harry Potter’s cock already, and in the mouth of another man no less. But Harry didn’t need to know that.

“Believe me when I say, no one is stopping you,” Harry said, not so subtly urging Draco on.

Draco gave into the urging, grabbing onto the briefs and pulling, dropping to his knees after all to get them all the way off. Harry stepped out of these as well, and when Draco looked up, the brunet’s magnificent cock was there, right in front of his face, red and veiny with arousal.

All Draco had to do was lean in a couple of inches, and he could kiss the tip, which he saw was already glistening with precum. But he didn’t. Instead, he just looked, taking in the details he hadn’t gotten the first time: the protruding head, the ring of dark hair around the base, and the heavy bollocks hanging underneath.

Draco was so turned on, almost hypnotized, looking at it, but he didn’t touch it. He knew once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. So instead he found his way to his feet, looking into Harry’s eyes once again. They were scorching.

“Time to explore?” Draco asked softly.

“By all means,” the man replied.

Draco picked up where he had left off, fingers playing along Harry’s chest. The hair was coarse, but not too thick, and he ran his fingers through it before letting them slide to a pectoral, and the nipple that had peaked and hardened in the evening air.

He grazed it, then let the pad of his finger circle the areola. Harry let out a soft moan.

The other hand was feeling Harry’s abdomen again. The front was almost solid muscle, the very lean kind that Draco admired most, but he did find some softness around the sides, just above the hips, and he found himself really liking that too. He squeezed the skin lightly between his fingers, then went lower, to the more tender skin at the crease of the joint. Harry breathed out a shaky breath.

So, Draco thought, this was a hotspot. Not surprising. Follow the line of that crease, and he would be practically cupping Harry’s sac.

Knowing he was dangerously close to giving in and finally touching that erection, Draco decided to move around Harry, coming to stand behind him. Harry remained perfectly still, not even turning his head to try and look back at Draco. It gave the blond implicit permission to admire unhindered.

And admire he did. Long ripples of muscle shaped Harry’s broad back, coming in to dip at the spine. Though there were plenty of scars – some small, and some long and puffy, like they were made by a whip – they only added to the effect, to the pure masculinity on display. Draco followed the lines with his eyes as a finger descended down the spine to where the torso tapered at the tailbone.

And there, just below: Harry’s arse. That fine arse, even better than Draco remembered. Because it was _not_ pure muscle, but rather had enough shape, enough roundness, to be truly gropeable.

 _Even spankable_. But Draco ignored the idle thought as it flitted through his mind. Maybe Harry would let him, someday, when they knew each other a bit better.

For now he was content to imagine what it would be like to have that arse cradling his cock, what it would be like to feel his bollocks bouncing against those round cheeks while he thrust deep inside. He groaned at the thought, stepping close enough that the hardness in his trousers teased along Harry’s opening, clueing the Gryffindor in to exactly what he was thinking about.

He received a shaky moan in response and closed his eyes, placing his mouth on the back of Harry’s neck, ever so lightly, running his lips along the skin while the short, dark hairs along the nape tickled his nose. His arms reached around, his fingers itching to play with Harry’s nipples again. He gave them rougher treatment this time, pinching them between his fingers.

“Ah!” Harry cried out, while his arse muscles clenched against Draco’s groin, stealing Draco’s breath and making him grind into Harry harder on instinct.

Draco knew his cock was weeping in his trousers, unwilling to take much more teasing without satisfaction. He _had_ to touch Harry, had to take this to the next stage.

One hand snaked down Harry’s stomach, fingers slipping into the pubic hair and going further, bypassing the base to fondle the wrinkled skin of his bollocks. He squeezed gently, grinning into Harry’s neck as the man bucked against that hand, clearly wanting more.

“Can I touch your cock, Professor?” he asked in the man’s ear, enjoying the way it made him shudder. “I _need_ to. Please say I can.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry said, his tone pure lust. “Yes. Touch me.”

Draco’s long fingers wrapped gently around the shaft, relishing the feel of the soft, tender skin encasing the steel-like hardness. He gave it one slow stroke, earning an unabashed and erotic moan from the brunet. Draco did it again, then drifted towards the tip, where he collected the beads of precum that were leaking out and used them to swirl his fingers around the head. With his hand and the cock partially lubed, he went back to stroking, keeping the movements slow and steady.

Harry seemed to be trying his best to remain still, but his arse muscles were twitching, which Draco could still readily feel, seeing as he was practically frotting against the Gryffindor from behind, seeking some stimulation of his own. He was turned on enough, with that heavy cock on his hand, that he might find a way to come like this. And he knew Harry could too. But he realized he wanted more. He wanted to be just as naked as Harry when he found his release.

He let go of Harry’s cock and the brunet let out a frustrated growl.

“I want you to see me too, Harry,” he said. “Do you want that?”

Harry turned around to face Draco, and the blond caught a glimpse of the unmistakably carnal glow in the other man’s eyes before his mouth was captured in a sensual kiss. Their tongues battled for a moment before Harry pulled away, walking backwards towards the bed. He climbed onto it.

“Strip for me,” he said, his voice deep with command. “Let me get a nice long look. Then you’re going to make us come with your hands. Understand?”

Draco nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. But he wanted to follow those instructions exactly. There was nothing he wanted more.

So he grabbed the bottom of his jumper and pulled the garment up and over his head, taking the undershirt with it so that all of his upper body was exposed to the brunet’s thirsty gaze. He was thinner than Harry, and paler, but he also knew that he was practically solid muscle, and that, other than his _sectumsempra_ scar his skin was smooth and pristine. So he simply drank in that gaze as he removed his shoes and socks and undid his trousers, letting them fall to the floor. He was determined to stand before Harry as unabashed as the Gryffindor, even as his pants were removed and his hard, bobbing cock came free and stood at attention.

Harry did not disappoint him either, his eyes roving over Draco as his lips parted, as if in awe. Their eyes met, and they exchanged small smiles of mutual appreciation before Harry said, his voice more hoarse now, “Come here.”

Draco approached, climbing onto the bed as Harry lay back and kneeling between the Gryffindor’s legs. He had his wand in his hand, knowing they would need it. He placed it carefully on the bed before lowering himself, his eyes focused on Harry’s mouth while the rest of him felt the slow approaching of skin touching skin.

When their cocks brushed together it sent a powerful jolt through him, making him let out a surprised, needy sound that had Harry moaning in response. Draco kissed him, knowing there was a desperation in it that hadn’t been there before. Harry returned the kiss, welcoming Draco’s plundering tongue, making it clear he was as ready for release as Draco already was.

Draco grabbed his wand, conjuring lube and coating his hand with it. He looked down at Harry, who nodded.

“Trust your instincts, Draco,” he said. “Make us feel good.”

Draco wrapped a hand around both their cocks, stroking them against each other, and Draco watched with satisfaction as Harry arched against him, his eyes rolling back in his head and his mouth open as if he were about to moan. Draco stroked again, his hand encasing the head of Harry’s cock for a moment before coming down again, and Harry really did moan now, or perhaps it was both of them. The sensation of his shaft against Harry’s, of his hands moving them, of Harry reaching up to grab Draco’s shoulders as he bucked against him, it was all volcanic heat and a swirling, soaring thrill, a give and take of need volleying between them as he hand moved up and down.

Draco kissed him again, doing his best not to let the rhythm of his hand falter. He was going slow, building them up inch by delicious inch, but the way Harry’s fingers were roaming now, playing with a nipple, running along his back, even gripping his arse, made Draco shaky with pleasure. He grunted and groaned into Harry’s mouth, every pinch and stroke going right to his cock, stoking the heat.

His mouth descended to Harry’s neck, unable to keep up the dual focus of kissing him and wanking him simultaneously. He simply panted into his neck, knowing as the heat grew and his bollocks twitched that he was close.

“Harry,” he breathed, “I’m going to… _Gods_ , I’m going to come. Are you…?”

“Yes,” Harry replied with a gasp. “I’m so close. Just a little faster.”

Draco obliged, exercising all his will to keep his orgasm at bay as his hand picked up its pace. He wanted to time it with Harry’s. He _needed_ to.

“Oh, Draco!” Harry said desperately. “Like that. Don’t stop. Just like that. Oh, _fuck_!”

Draco found himself smiling, his breath almost a laugh of relief as he felt Harry spasm in his hand, and he knew he could let go. In a powerful surge he came, coating both their cocks and his hand, his cum mingling with Harry’s as both men twitched and trembled, panted and groaned.

“Sweet Merlin,” he said under his breath as he rolled and landed next to Harry on the bed.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed with a sigh. They lay there panting for a while before he looked over at Draco. “You’re a natural, you know.”

Draco grinned. “I know a lot about wanking.”

Harry chuckled, sounding both amused and satisfied. “Don’t we all?”

Draco made to reach for his wand before realizing his wand hand was covered in spunk. “Clean us up, would you?” he said to the Gryffindor. “My wand’s right there.”

Harry did, picking up the hawthorn wand and looking at it a moment before waving it over both of them, vanishing the cum from Draco’s hand and both of their groins. Draco couldn’t help another small groan as he felt the magic brush lightly over the sensitive skin of his softened cock. He relaxed against one of Harry’s pillows, still in the process of coming down from his high.

“This is already a lot better than it would have been with Rick the Prick,” he said.

Harry let out an amused hum. “Yes, well, I told you to be choosy.”

“I thought I was being choosy at the time, you know. There was plenty to like about the bloke on the surface. How was I supposed to know what he was really like?”

“One of the pitfalls of trying to pick up strangers,” Harry said. “You usually get at least a few duds before you get something good.”

“You should have warned me.”

“I thought I had,” Harry insisted. “I told you to buy them a drink and talk to them for a while. You were the one who pretty much skipped that step and went right to the dancing and the teasing.”

“Hmph,” said Draco, having no good way to counter that. “I was in a bit of a hurry, I suppose,” he admitted finally.

“Perhaps I should have just offered myself to you from the beginning, saved you all the pain and hassle.”

Draco looked at him in surprise. “You considered doing that?”

“Yes. Of course I did. But I had no idea if you’d go for it. I thought it might be too strange for you, given our history.”

Draco frowned, thinking. He _had_ found the idea strange at first, but that feeling was long gone. Being with Harry was surprisingly easy, even natural. He supposed it was because there were no expectations of this turning into something serious, and that took the pressure off.

“Is it strange for you?” he asked the Gryffindor.

“Yes, a little,” Harry said. “But it’s a good strange. It was unexpected, and that makes it exciting. Not to mention, I rather like getting to see the side of you that most people don’t get to see. You’re so reserved and controlled most of the time, and to see you _not_ that way, to see you with the walls down…it’s quite hot, honestly.”

“Hmm,” Draco said, considering that. “I suppose you have a point.” The truth was, he’d hardly thought of that, because he’d been dropping his walls unconsciously this whole time, in response to Harry and his complete lack of self-consciousness.

They lay in silence for a while, both of them content. Harry pulled the covers of the bed over them at one point, more to shield them from the night air than to hide their nakedness. Draco realized he was becoming dangerously close to falling asleep again.

“I suppose I should go soon,” he said.

Harry turned his head to look at him. “You’re free to stay the night, you know.”

“I appreciate that, but we do have to think about discretion. It would be easier for me to leave at night, when being out in the castle wouldn’t seem suspicious. If I leave in the morning, it might draw attention.”

Harry tilted his head against his pillow. “That’s true. There’s no way to know if anyone would notice, but they might.”

“It’s just better to be cautious, I think.”

“Fair enough. But there’s no reason you have to go right now. Stay a bit, have a drink. Or perhaps some sweets.”

“Sweets?” Draco asked, giving Harry a confused smile.

“Like ice cream,” said the brunet, sitting up. “I always like eating ice cream after sex. I don’t know why. I just get a craving.”

“Ice cream in bed? That’s very indulgent.”

Harry shrugged. “It’s nice to indulge sometimes.”

Draco looked at him, unable to help a smile.

“Shall I call a house elf, then? They’ll be happy to bring us some. Any flavor you like.”

Draco smiled wider. “Yes, all right. I want chocolate fudge.”

Harry licked his lips. “Mm. That sounds perfect.”

***

When a bright red Howler arrived for Draco during breakfast a few mornings later, the blond felt a spasm of panic, looking automatically to Harry. He saw the Gryffindor’s eyes widen in a question, and he thought perhaps they were wondering the same thing.

_Does someone know about us? Are we about to be outed to the entire Great Hall?_

But then Draco picked up the letter, which was starting to smoke, and realized he recognized the handwriting of the address. With a small sigh of relief, but still dreading what was about to happen, he opened it, and heard the shrill and booming voice of one of his closest friends fill the hall.

“DRACO MALFOY! YOU HAD BETTER ANSWER THE NEXT LETTER I WRITE TO YOU OR I SWEAR ON ALL THAT IS GOOD AND MAGICAL IN THIS WORLD THAT I WILL SEND YOU A HOWLER EVERY SINGLE BLOODY MORNING UNTIL YOU DO. SO WRITE ME BACK YOU STUBBORN BASTARD!”

The Howler burst into flames, just as the hall was bursting into giggles, all eyes on the staff table where Draco sat, watching the letter burn to dust. He looked around, arching a brow at his students.

“As you were,” he said, loud enough to be heard by most of them.

There was another round of laughter, plus some whispering, likely speculating who it was that had sent Professor Malfoy a Howler.

Looking amongst the staff Draco could see there was plenty of curiosity there as well. He turned to McGonagall.

“My apologies for that, Headmistress,” he said. “Pansy has never quite grasped the concept of subtlety. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

McGonagall nodded, and he thought he saw a small, amused smile flit across her mouth before her expression became impassive again.

“That was Pansy Parkinson?” Harry asked.

“Well, Pansy Nott, now,” Draco corrected. “But yes. I haven’t written her in a while. Apparently she took some offense to that.”

That got some laughs from the table, and most of the staff went back to their breakfast.

Only a few minutes later another owl swooped in and dropped a letter on Draco’s plate. This one was from Pansy as well, but it was comprised only of normal parchment, much to Draco’s relief. He picked it up and stuck into the inside pocket of his robes.

“That from Pansy as well?” Harry asked him, smiling.

“It is.”

“I suppose you’d better answer it, then.” Draco could tell Harry was curious, but now was not the time to explain. He _had_ been avoiding Pansy, but for reasons he definitely wasn’t going to get into with everyone listening in.

“Trust me, I plan to,” he told Harry. “I’m not going to be the provider of any more mealtime entertainment. Once was enough.”

“She certainly knows how to get your attention, then.”

“She knows me well,” Draco admitted. She always had.

It wasn’t until his classes were done for the day that Draco decided to finally open the letter. He knew he should respond immediately; the woman didn’t make empty threats. But he still put it off, at least until he was sure he could be alone.

It wasn’t a particularly long letter, Draco was glad to see. Pansy was never one to go on and on, and preferred to get to the point, something he had always appreciated about her.

 

_Dearest Draco,_

_I suppose I should apologize for the very aggressive means I implemented to make sure you read and responded to this letter. Well… I’m sorry. But honestly, what did you expect? I wanted to give you your space but this is getting ridiculous. I know you took a post at Hogwarts, which I think is a wonderful step forward, actually, and means you’re obviously ready to move on with your life. I’m glad for that. I just want to be a part of it._

_The only reason I can possibly think of for the fact that you are avoiding me is that you somehow believe that I’ve taken Blaise’s side over yours. I can assure you that isn’t the case. I have barely spoken to him, actually, except to give him a piece of my mind and tell him he should be ashamed of himself. He didn’t take that too well, as you can imagine._

_I don’t say this often, so don’t get used to it or anything, but you are the most important friend I have in my life. I don’t want you to shut out everyone who cares about you just because of what happened. Theo and I both miss you._

_So write to me, or else!_

_All my love,_

_Pansy_

 

Draco was actually smiling when he finished the letter, which surprised him. Thinking about Pansy had been painful for him these past few months, not because of something she had done, but because she reminded him of the past, of all that had happened. Not to mention, she’d ended up in a quite happy arranged marriage and already had a child who she and Theo both adored. It was very hard not to be jealous, and that made him feel doubly worse because the last thing he wanted was to wish her misery.

But maybe he was ready to start moving on. The thought of Pansy and Theo’s love and fidelity didn’t make his stomach burn with resentment anymore, nor did thinking of them with their son, a happy little family unit. And that was a step in the right direction, a sign that he _was_ healing, even if it had taken a while.

He took out some parchment and a quill, considering what he wanted to say to her. He had only gotten as far as _Dear Pansy_ when the paper dragon on his desk roared softly and flapped its delicate wings.

He had a message from Harry. His stomach flipped.

He tapped on the dragon with his wand and waited for it to unfold.

 _Meet again soon?_ _Any night but Sunday_ , the parchment read.

Smiling, Draco tapped it blank and then composed his own message.

_Tomorrow night, then. My rooms this time. 10 o’clock._

He sent the message off and turned the parchment back into a dragon, then turned back to his letter to Pansy.

There were certainly some things about his current life that he wasn’t going to be able to share, but it was nice to know he could assure her that he was at least happy, and had found many worthwhile things to distract him at Hogwarts.

Thinking of that, the letter was actually quite easy to write.


	7. Lesson 7: Delayed Gratification

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaand the Drarry smut-a-thon continues. I hope this isn't too much for you already. It's still early yet :) I promise I'll always include some plot and character development too, just so you can occasionally take a breather.

“I think some of the students here have a crush on you,” Pansy remarked as they walked down the main thoroughfare of Hogsmeade, passing a large group of 4th and 5th years that were congregating at the entrance to Zonko’s Joke Shop.

Draco looked over his shoulder at them to see that many were following Draco and Pansy with their eyes, and some were giggling and whispering to each other behind their hands.

“It’s not that,” Draco said with a roll of his eyes. “They probably just think you’re my girlfriend or something, and that’s got them all in a tizzy, bloody gossips that they are.”

Pansy let out a dry peal of laughter, and Draco couldn’t help but smile, realizing how much he’d missed that sound.

“Come on, I heard of a little bistro around the corner that the students never go to. French fare, too expensive for them, I think.”

“Sounds lovely,” she replied.

It was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term, nearing close to Halloween already, and Draco had been lucky enough to avoid chaperone duty this time around, meaning he was free to take Pansy up on the tentative plans to have lunch in the village together. Draco appreciated her willingness to come to him, since it was a very busy time in the term for the teachers as they prepared to administer mid-term exams. And what time wasn’t taken up with designing his exams and marking the weekly homework was used to enjoy time with Harry.

They came to their destination, a cozy little restaurant called _L’Oiseau Bleu_. A waiter greeted them cordially and led them to one of the small square tables covered in a clean white tablecloth, set simply but tastefully with pale blue napkins and a small vase of flowers.

“I like the look of this,” Pansy remarked as the waiter scurried off to fetch them some water. “I had no idea this was here.”

“It’s post-war, as I understand it,” Draco said. “So it wasn’t here back when we were students.”

“How did you hear about it?”

“A colleague of mine recommended it.” It just so happened that that colleague was Harry, after Draco mentioned that he wanted to take Pansy somewhere nice, to avoid both the crowds and the questionable cuisine at the Three Broomsticks. But Draco thought it best not to share that detail, lest it lead to a whole round of questions.

The waiter came with their water then, as well as menus, and they took some time to peruse, occasionally commenting on dishes they thought looked particularly delicious. Draco was trying to decide between the steak frites and the duck with foie gras sauce when he sensed Pansy’s gaze and looked up to see her eyeing him over her menu.

“You look good, Draco,” she said. “Happy.”

Draco was taken aback, but didn’t let that show on his face as he merely frowned thoughtfully and replied, “I’m getting there, at any rate.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad to see it. You look better than I expected.”

Draco lowered his menu, giving her a mock-offended look. “You thought I would be some sort of emotional train wreck, is that it?”

The witch gave a small scoff. “Nothing so dramatic,” she said. “Though you’re still a bit sensitive, I see.” But then she saw his playful grin and her face softened. “Teaching suits you, apparently.”

“It does. I quite enjoy it. Very difficult, sometimes draining, work, but even on the days that are more frustrating I have other teachers I can vent to. Camaraderie among the staff is very high. I’ve even made a few friends.”

“Well that’s good to hear. Anyone special?”

Draco arched an eyebrow at her.

“Any prospects, you know, of a… romantic nature?” she clarified, not that Draco needed it. He’d known what she meant; he just intended to play dumb about it.

“Not at the moment,” he said mildly.

“Ah, well… you’re surrounded by old, academic types, I suppose. Doesn’t leave much by way of options.”

“Not all of them. There’s some younger staff as well. In fact, Francesca Bianchi, who was only a few years our senior when we were at school with her, is the Transfiguration Professor and head of Slytherin house. She’s quite lovely.”

Pansy grinned like a cat with a canary. “Oh, she’s ‘quite lovely,’ is she? And you said there was no one special.”

“It’s not like that,” Draco said.

“Mm-hmm,” the witch replied skeptically. “All right, if you insist.”

“I do.”

“I just think there’s no shame in seeking out another’s affections. I realize you haven’t been officially divorced long, but after what that awful woman did to you, you hardly need to worry about waiting out of propriety or some such nonsense.”

“It’s not shame or propriety that’s holding me back.”

Pansy gave him a surprised look, but their waiter had arrived to take their order and she didn’t have the opportunity to reply. They ordered food and a bottle of wine (“I’m off duty,” Draco insisted, when Pansy asked with merely the suggestive tilting of her head), and the waiter bowed and said “Very good” before flitting away and leaving them to themselves.

“Draco.”

“Yes?”

“What is it that’s holding you back?”

“I’m just not ready yet.”

“Ready for what?”

“A relationship. Dating.”

The woman thought that over, and Draco watched her as he sipped his water. She had grown into her own quite nicely by the time she’d come of age. In her youth her face had been pinched and her mouth a bit twisted, as if she were wearing a perpetual scowl. But much of that had smoothed out during puberty, and the hint that remained suited her, making her look serious and thoughtful. She would never have the fair and delicate beauty of the Greengrass sisters or the sultry allure of a woman like Francesca, but Draco liked that about her. Her face had personality and an unconventional appeal, made all the more interesting by her wicked and unexpected sense of humor.

Though Draco had never pined for Pansy himself, he couldn’t help but think Theo a lucky man. His wife was striking, intelligent, and, above all else, fiercely loyal. Draco could only hope to find the same one day.

“Are you interested in something casual?” she was asking him now, making him focus back on the conversation. “I imagine something could be arranged. I know a fair few single witches these days, most of them _not_ pureblood, mind you, but if you’re willing to look past that…”

“I don’t much care about blood status,” he said. “Perhaps when I’m looking for something permanent, if only to avoid the inevitable rigmarole my parents would put me through if I tried to choose a half-blood for a wife.”

“Or a Muggleborn?” Pansy sounded slightly incredulous, as if she still wasn’t sure he would entertain such an idea, even hypothetically.

“Or a Muggleborn,” Draco echoed.

It was hard to tell if he had shocked Pansy or not, because she merely blinked at him. “It’s settled then,” she said finally. “I’ll find a nice witch for you to shag – I mean date… casually –“ she inserted, one eye closing in the smallest of winks. “Something to tide you over until you’re ready for something more serious.”

Draco shook his head. “That’s not necessary.”

“But you just agreed that-“

“I agreed to nothing,” Draco interrupted, keeping his tone light and a small smile on his face. “I merely said _if_ I wanted something casual, blood status would be no object. I didn’t say I was interested in you matching me up with someone.”

“But why not?”

“Because I don’t need it.”

“Like hell you don’t.” She leaned forward in her chair in order to study him more closely, but their wine arrived then, and she had to lean back again so the waiter could place their glasses in front of them and serve the wine with a showy flourish.

Draco could feel Pansy’s eyes on him, but he gave the waiter his full attention, thanking him with a murmur when the fragrant ruby liquid was finally poured and tasted for approval. When he met Pansy’s eyes again, they were full of curiosity.

“You’ve already found someone, haven’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” Draco took another sip of his wine.

“Because you like sex, and you wouldn’t go without it if you had a choice. And given what a charming, handsome devil you are, I imagine finding a very willing, if not casual, bed partner would be no hardship at all, as long as you’re looking in earnest.”

“But I’m not looking,” Draco countered.

“Well, no, not anymore, not that you’ve already found someone.”

“Your circular logic is making me dizzy.”

“Why are you being so coy, Drakey dearest?”

“Don’t call me that,” he replied with a roll of his eyes.

“Is it something scandalous?” she went on, ignoring him. “Is she married or something?”

Draco felt his face harden. “How can you even suggest such a thing? As if _I_ would ever…” He couldn’t finish the thought.

Pansy opened her mouth then closed it again, looking genuinely chastened. “My apologies. I was just having a bit of fun. But that was in poor taste. I got carried away.”

Draco considered making a meal out of the faux pas, if only to avoid further discussion on the matter of his mystery lover, but in the end decided he didn’t want to be _that_ Slytherin today. He didn’t want to turn their lunch together into something unpleasant.

“It’s all right,” he said softly.

“I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

There was silence for a minute or two, in which Pansy looked actually rather distressed that she had upset him. He reached across the table and put a hand on hers.

“It’s fine, really. Let’s just talk about something else, shall we? How’s Gideon?”

Pansy gave him a grateful smile at the mention of her son. “He’s wonderful.” Her smile tilted into a smirk. “Well, actually, he’s a little terror. But we love him anyway.”

Draco laughed. “My understanding is that two-year-olds evoke that feeling in most parents.”

“Indeed they do.” She took a sip of her wine. “He misses his godfather, you know. I’d understand if you weren’t up for it, but…”

“Why don’t I come for a visit during the holidays?” Draco suggested.

She smiled sweetly at him. “That would be lovely.”

Their appetizer arrived, and talk turned to Theo and his business. By the time their main course was served they’d moved into the latest pureblood gossip, which Draco had been out of the loop on for the past few months.

He thought he might manage to make it through the meal without another mention of his sex life, but Pansy did manage to bring the conversation back around that way, just as they were finishing their final bites of duck and sips of wine.

“If you’re going to insist on keeping the identity of the person you’re currently sleeping with a secret, then I can live with that,” she said. “But at least admit it’s happening, for my sake. I just like to know you’re happy.”

“I am happy.”

“And does another person have something to do with that?” she pressed.

Draco hesitated. “Many people do. My students, my colleagues, my friends…” He tilted his wine glass at her, and she accepted the tribute, though she was clearly waiting for him to continue. He sighed. “And there is someone satisfying my other needs as well. But it isn’t serious, and it’s better for both of us if we don’t discuss it with anyone. It’s not going to last anyway. The limitations on the relationship are well understood.”

Pansy rested her chin on her hands. “Well, this _is_ intriguing. Will I get to learn who it is some day, at least?”

“Perhaps,” Draco said, remaining coy. He wasn’t going to make any promises. Much of it depended on whether he decided to continue to date men after his liaisons with Harry were finished. And the rest depended on if he could ever bring himself to admit, even to his closest friends, that it was Harry Potter of all people who had introduced him to his homosexual side.

Although perhaps, he thought as he watched his friend across the table, the look of pure shock it would bring to Pansy’s face would be enough to make it worth it.

***

 _She_ would _be shocked_ , Draco thought as he munched on a chocolate biscuit and sipped at his tea, _if Pansy could see me now_.

He’d been having such thoughts frequently since his lunch with her, realizing how many of his habits and hang-ups had altered in the short time he’d been involved with Harry.

For example, he had now taken to eating in bed (actually _eating_ , even foods like biscuits that made a lot of crumbs), a habit that Draco kept meaning to insist to Harry was barbaric, but didn’t, for some reason, perhaps because there was something enticing about the way Harry’s throat bobbed when he swallowed and Draco found himself distracted from making his admonishments whenever he caught sight of it.

Draco finished his tea, dusted biscuit crumbs from his person, and excused himself to use the loo. Harry watched him idly from the bed as he walked away, clad in nothing but a pair of dark boxer briefs.

They were both in nothing but their pants. Harry had insisted on it, saying it was all a part of the “lazy Sunday” experience.

Draco’d never had such a Sunday in his life, something that made Harry gape at him in mock horror when he admitted it. Draco went on to insist that lazy Sundays weren’t actually a _thing_ , but rather something Harry had made up just because that was the sort of thing Harry did.

And Harry had gone on to say that just because they were made up didn’t make them any less enjoyable, for which Draco had no reasonable argument.

So here they were, nearly naked, lounging, reading, having tea and biscuits in bed, and fooling around when they could muster the energy.

Draco used the loo and then stopped by the sink to wash his hands, catching sight of his reflection in the mirror. His gaze lingered incredulously over his disheveled hair and the shameless love bites on his neck before shifting to his mouth, where he caught a bit of chocolate nestled into the cleft of his lower lip. _Barbaric,_ he thought as he licked it away.

Barbaric, yes, but also… delicious.

When he made his way back into the bedroom he saw that Harry had donned his glasses again and was reading something in the back pages of that morning’s _Prophet_. Draco rested a shoulder against the doorway and watched him, the way his lithe body hunched over the newspaper, as if what he was reading was so fascinating he almost needed to dive into the page to get the full experience. His lips were parted as his eyes darted over the words, his brow twitching occasionally.

The scene gave Draco a strange kind of pang in his gut, something that might have been homesickness.

He knew there would be unavoidable closeness when he started sleeping with Harry, but he had never expected this much… _intimacy._

It seemed to come with the territory. Harry had a way of dismantling barriers, blurring the boundary lines while Draco wasn’t paying attention. Draco knew he would have to be more careful with that going forward. If Harry was going to insist on smudging those lines, Draco would just have to redraw them occasionally, so they knew where they stood.

It would also help if things moved along a little. It would remind Draco this wasn’t a relationship but a mentorship, a learning experience. Harry had been insisting on taking things slow, and they still hadn’t gotten past getting each other off with their hands. Not that those experiences hadn’t been enjoyable (Harry could be _very_ creative with his fingers), but this was still too slow for Draco’s liking.

“Unbelievable,” Harry said under his breath, shaking his head. He refolded the newspaper.

“What were you reading?” Draco asked, coming into the room and taking a place next to Harry in the bed.

“Just an article about an investigation Ron is wrapping up. I haven’t talked to him in a while so I thought I might get some information on it from the _Prophet._ But they clearly have their facts wrong. I’ll just have to floo call Ron about it sometime soon and get full story.”

“You two don’t owl when you’re at Hogwarts?”

“We do,” Harry said, taking off his glasses and placing them on his bedside table. “But he doesn’t share any details about his Auror cases through the post, just to be safe.”

“Of course,” Draco said, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that.

Harry gave him a lopsided smile and scooted closer. Draco watched him in silence as the brunet rolled to lie on top of him, pinning him to the bed by his hips (which made their groins rubbed together distractingly) and wrapping his arms around the back of Draco’s shoulders. He looked down at Draco with that same smile, his eyes tracing the contours of Draco’s face. The blond stared up at him, fingers brushing absently along Harry’s biceps and a question on his lips.

“When are you going to teach me how to suck a cock?” he blurted after a moment.

Harry’s eyes widened comically, but then he broke into a laugh. “Getting eager, are we? A little impatient?”

“I think I’ve been quite patient,” Draco said haughtily, “considering we haven’t moved past hands, which I figured out pretty well on my own.”

“Mm,” Harry said in what might have been agreement. “And you can’t do the same with your mouth?”

“You were the one who insisted on setting the pace, so I haven’t had the opportunity. And I do think a blowjob is likely harder to get right than a hand job, don’t you? There’s much more to know about proper technique, relaxing the throat, use of the tongue… I’m just waiting on your expert tips, that’s all.”

“Hmmm,” said Harry, tilting his head. “Seems to me you’re a bit fixated on technique.”

Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not really about that, is it? Expertise is no substitute for enthusiasm.”

Draco stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“An expert blowjob is all well and good, but if there’s nothing behind it… if a bloke can swallow me whole and suck with just the right pressure and never spill a drop and all that but he’s just going through the motions, like he’s done it a million times… it sort takes me out of it. I’d rather have someone who sucks my cock like they can’t help themselves, like it’s the most delicious thing they’ve ever tasted, even if they don’t have much experience. That’s just… so much _hotter_ , you know? Feeling like a person really wants you?” He looked down at Draco for confirmation.

Draco smirked. “I didn’t realize this was a philosophy course I signed up for.”

Harry arched a brow. “Didn’t you?”

Draco considered that. Yes, he did want to learn to embody Harry’s philosophy when it came to sex. But he was expecting more than that. “I rather thought it would be a blend of theory and practicum. Seems to me I’m getting a lot of the theory without much practicum.”

Harry laughed. “I see. I’m just _too_ philosophical then. And perhaps you’re a bit too technical. What a fine pair we make.”

“I’m saying there’s a balance. I can promise you that if I’m sucking your cock, I’m going to be enthusiastic.” He ran the arch of his foot up and down Harry’s calf, making the Gryffindor squirm and grind against him in a very delicious way. “But I’d also like to know what I’m _doing_. I’d like to know exactly what will make you feel the best you’ve ever felt. I want it to be incredible from start to finish, so good you don’t even have the brain power to think about my technique or if I’ve done it a million times before, you know? You just… _feel_.”

They were silent for a minute or two as Harry eyed him with what was unmistakably lust, but also something else, something considering, maybe curious. Then he smiled, a glint coming into his eye that Draco thought he recognized. Draco licked his lips. Was he about to get what he wanted?

“Let’s play a game,” Harry said.

“What sort of game?” Draco hedged.

Harry paused, a pensive glaze coming into his eyes. “Hold on, I’m thinking about how exactly this should work.”

“So you’ve never played this game before?”

“I’m making it up right now.” The Gryffindor chewed on his lip in thought for a moment. “All right, here’s how it works: I give you a blowjob…”

“I like where this is going so far,” Draco said, fighting his damnedest to keep a straight face.

“Wait, I’m not finished. I’m going to give you a blowjob, but you’re going to talk me through it from start to finish.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow, staring at him. “What?”

“I’m only going to do what you tell me to do, and no more than that. Every little thing, down to the smallest detail, is under your control.”

“Why?”

“You said you wanted to learn about giving a great blowjob. Well the best way to learn something isn’t always by doing. Sometimes it’s by _feeling_. How will you know what works and doesn’t work unless you feel it for yourself?”

“But I’ve had blowjobs before,” Draco argued. “Loads of times.”

“But not since you decided you might want to start _giving_ blowjobs. That changes your whole perspective.”

Draco considered that. “It just seems – not that I’m actually going to argue against you sucking my cock, obviously – but it just seems too simple a game.”

“Simplicity can be deceiving,” Harry replied.

“How do I win? By coming? I feel like that’s inevitable.”

“No, not by coming. Your goal shouldn’t merely be an orgasm. Your goal is to…” Harry tapped on his mouth, thinking about it. “Your goal is to get as much pleasure out of the blowjob _before_ you come as possible.”

Draco had to admit, that idea was already getting him going. He really did like how Harry's mind worked, sometimes.

“Very well,” he said. “Let’s play.”

Harry’s face broke into a grin. “Excellent.” He lifted himself off Draco so he was kneeling before him, then stared at the Slytherin expectantly.

“So, how does it begin?” Draco asked.

“You tell me. You’re in charge here. I’m only here to serve you, Oh Blond One.” He bowed his head in mock reverence, making Draco snort.

“All right, then,” he said. “Take off your pants.”

Harry didn’t hesitate, only smiled, climbing off the bed momentarily to remove his navy briefs. With his half-hard cock exposed to the air he climbed back on, looking nothing but eager as he awaited Draco’s next instructions.

Draco was about to tell Harry to remove his pants as well, but decided he wanted something else first.

“Kiss me.”

“Where?”

Draco grinned, putting a finger to his own lips. “Here.”

Harry hovered over him again, lining their bodies up automatically, his mouth descending on Draco’s.

“Softly,” Draco added, when they were only inches apart.

Harry closed the distance, and the kiss was quite gentle, just the brushing of lips. Draco relished the light pressure, the way their noses nuzzled along each other as they deepened the kiss by tiny increments.

But he wanted contact along other parts of his body, and he realized he wasn’t going to get it unless he told Harry what he wanted.

“Brush your cock along my skin.”

Harry released a shaky breath, clearly rather liking that directive. “What part?”

“My thigh.” He bent his knee, exposing the pale, tender skin of his inner thigh to demonstrate.

Harry complied, and both men gasped at the sensation. Harry’s naked cock was twitching against Draco, getting harder by the moment, and Draco’s was responding, fighting against his underwear.

“Kiss my neck, on my pulse point.”

Harry’s lips descended, finding the right spot easily.

“Graze it with your teeth.”

Harry did, and even the threat of sharp pleasure was enough to make Draco shudder. Or perhaps it was the precum that was making a cool trail on his sensitive skin as Harry continued to tease Draco’s thigh with his cock.

“Bite, gently, then suck.”

He’d never thought of the logistics of giving – or receiving- a love bite, but this game was already making him think of all of it, step by step, not just that he wanted Harry to mark his skin, but _how._ The pull of Harry’s lips and tongue right _there_ , right where his blood was pounding, went straight to his cock.

“Trace my collarbone with your teeth, then down to my nipple.” He cricked his neck in order to watch Harry follow his instructions, though he had to close his eyes a couple of times to control the trembling. Merely the light tickle of Harry’s breath shouldn’t feel that _good_.

Harry’s mouth hovered over Draco’s left nipple as he stared at the blond through his dark fringe, awaiting his orders.

“Kiss it.”

Merlin, those _lips,_ the way they shaped perfectly around his sensitive nub. He could spend an eternity watching those lips tease his skin, feeling their softness on every part of him. And that tongue, too. Couldn’t forget the tongue.

“Lick it.”

The wet, pink muscle emerged, flicking the nipple.

“Trace it with your tongue. Yes, like that. Oh, _fuck._ ”

The need was becoming too much, and he was arching, but arching into nothing but air.

“Brush my cock with your hand.” He needed just a little something to take the edge off, that was all.

But then Harry did as he was told, placing the palm of his hand just barely on the base of Draco’s fabric-clad shaft before gliding upward, toward the tip, which he teased with a couple of fingers for no more than an instant. And the fire was only stoked, and only grew.

“Oh, gods. Oh, fuck. Harry!” Draco squirmed as the brunet continued to work on that nipple with his mouth, trying in vain for some more friction. But he didn’t ask for what his cock was absolutely screaming for, not yet.

If Harry had been in charge, Draco would already be begging. He was sure of that. But knowing that the moment he commanded Harry to pull down his pants and put that cock in his mouth Harry would comply helped him maintain his sanity. He would get what he needed, meaning he was free to torment himself a bit longer, knowing it would make his eventual release that much sweeter. He reached a hand up, cupping Harry’s cheek. Harry’s lips pulled away from his nipple, and he stared at Draco with unmistakable hunger.

“And now?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Kiss me, from here,” Draco pointed to the inside of his right knee, “to here.” His finger trailed up his thigh, ending right at the edge of his underwear. Harry followed the path Draco was tracing with his eyes, then looked back at him, his smile purely carnal.

 _He_ likes  _following instructions,_ Draco noted, his bollocks tightening at the thought. What possibilities that left for the future.

And then Harry’s mouth descended on his skin again, and Draco had no focus left for thinking.

Harry took his time. Draco could have told him to go faster, but this is what he wanted, to feel the wet touch of lips inch closer and achingly closer to his groin. His arse flexed automatically, his erection reaching for a touch that hadn’t yet arrived, but this only made him harder and hotter. As he watched Harry’s slow ascent he noticed the wet spot in his pants growing by the second, his neglected cock weeping for attention.

 _So close,_ he reassured it silently. _Just a little longer, and then it’s going to be so good._

Harry paused, his mouth lingering at the point Draco had indicated, his eyes looking up at the blond again in a silent question. _What next?_

Draco hesitated. He knew what he wanted, but he wasn’t sure he was capable of asking for it aloud. Harry waited, his breath a light, warm pulse on his covered bollocks.

Then he remembered who this was, where he was, and that he didn’t need to have inhibitions here. Harry _wanted_ him to indulge, to say aloud all the dirty things he liked.

“Bury your face right here,” he said, pointing to his groin. “Inhale me.”

There was no hesitation, no judgment, only eager compliance. Harry put his nose right at the base of Draco’s erection and took a big sniff.

Harry groaned, then, so erotically that Draco said, without thinking. “That’s right, Harry. Can you smell that, how turned on I am?”

Harry groaned again.

“Run your nose along my cock, feel how hard it is.”

Harry did, still inhaling as he went.

“I’m _so_ hard for you, Harry. Only you. Do you feel it?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed. “Fuck yes.”

“I can’t wait to be in your mouth.”

Harry hummed against his arousal.

“Do you want that, Harry? Do you want to suck my cock?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how much you want it.”

“So much, Draco. I’m drooling just thinking about it. Thinking about taking you all the way in, as far as you’ll go, tasting every inch of you. Sucking you until you burst and licking you clean.”

“ _Fuck_.” His mouth was right there, on his hardness, his words vibrations through the thin gray fabric. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Take off my pants. Do it.”

Harry clearly heard the urgency in Draco’s voice loud and clear, because he was swift, gripping the edges of the waistband and pulling down in one fluid motion.

Draco stared down at his liberated erection, gasping at how red and hard it really was.

Gods, this was _fun._ He didn’t want it to end.

“Suck on my bollocks,” he instructed, knowing that once Harry put the actual cock in his mouth, this wasn’t going to last much longer. “Suck one, getting it nice and wet, and then do the other.”

He spread his legs wide to give Harry access, and that felt almost as good, almost as dirty, as Harry’s mouth on him. To be wanton like this, exposed and shameless, reveling in pleasure, this was what he came to Harry for. _This_ was what Harry was really teaching him.

“Tease my perineum,” he said, suddenly craving it. “Massage it with your thumb… _yes_.” He threw his head back. Every touch from Harry now, be it by mouth or hands, felt nearly orgasmic, like it could tip him over the edge any moment. “Oh, fuck, Harry! That’s so _good_. That’s so fucking good.”

Harry hummed his approval, and Draco decided he couldn’t take anymore. It was time for the main event, even if it only lasted ten seconds. It would still be the best ten seconds he’d ever felt.

“Run your lips up my cock.”

He was trembling with need at the sensation, at the way blood throbbed almost painfully against Harry’s mouth.

“And up the other side.”

Harry complied, his eyes closed, as if savoring it.

“Kiss the tip. Taste my precum.”

Harry supported himself on his elbows, his mouth only an inch away. He opened his eyes and looked at Draco, and held the gaze with burning heat as his lips parted, then wrapped lovingly around the domed head in a sensual kiss.

The feel of it was almost like coming, so close, in fact, that a desperate cry was ripped from Draco’s throat. He didn’t close his eyes, though. He kept them on Harry.

“Do it again,” he said. “But take more this time. Another inch.”

This was where the world existed, he realized. Everything had narrowed to those couple of inches and the lips that surrounded them, and the tongue that was tasting them.

“Swirl around the head with your tongue,” he practically begged, “then take me deeper, as deep as you can.”

That turned out to be pretty damn deep, Draco learned as he watched his cock disappear between those swollen pink lips. Harry paused momentarily, breathing deeply through his nose, but then kept going until Draco felt himself hit the back of Harry’s throat.

For all his talk about how expertise was overrated, Harry sure did know how to suck a cock. Not that Draco was surprised.

“Harry!” he mewled, teetering dangerously close to the brink. He wasn’t sure he was capable of more instruction. He didn’t even know _what_ he wanted, only that he needed it. “Please, Harry! I can’t… I need… Gods, just make me _come_. I’m so close. I just need… fuck! I need…”

But Harry knew what he needed. His lips tightened around the base of Draco’s erection, and he moved up and down, slowly, giving Draco a little bit of friction, enough to get him good and primed. Then he took Draco as deep as he could again, gazing up at the blond with shining green eyes. And then he swallowed, and his throat tightened around Draco, and Draco – panting, staring into those green orbs – came in a series of intense, delicious pulses that Harry chugged like pumpkin juice.

Draco had no voice left to express this, this incredible pleasure, so he simply gaped at Harry in blissful shock, watching him take it all as Harry was watching him come.

Eventually, some eternity later, he was spent, and he lay back against the pillow, gasping for breath.

 _Where has this been all my life?_ He found himself wondering. Why had he spent so much of his adult life self-conscious about sex, wondering if he was doing, saying, feeling the right things? Why had it taken him so long to just exist like this, in the moment, loving sex for its own sake? He didn’t know.

He opened his eyes, ready to praise Harry for such a brilliant idea, but the words caught in his throat at the sight of Harry kneeling above him, stroking himself in a state of unhindered arousal.

“What are you doing?” he managed.

“That was the sexiest fucking thing I have ever done,” Harry said, his eyes boring into Draco’s. “I have to come.”

Draco shook his head. “Not like this.”

“What-“

But Harry never had a chance to finish, because Draco had mustered the strength to sit up, grab him around the middle, and toss him to the bed so he was lying on his back. He grabbed Harry’s hands and pinned them down, keeping him from touching himself.

“My turn,” he said, and dove right in.

He knew now wasn’t the time for teasing, so he took Harry’s cock right into his mouth, beyond thinking, beyond worrying. He simply sucked, and bobbed, and sucked some more, spurred on by the way Harry was squirming and sobbing under him. He took Harry as deep as he could, until he nearly choked, but then backed off, using his tongue and the tightening of his lips to continue to stimulate Harry. He didn’t have to learn how to deep throat a man in one lesson. For right now, with the small weight of Harry’s hand on his blond head, guiding him, gripping him, encouraging him, Draco knew his mere desire to do this was enough, and that Harry was going to come crying his name.

He sucked harder, one hand reaching to fondle Harry’s sac, and Harry moaned with abandon.

“I’m coming, Draco!” he cried. “Oh, Gods… fuck! I’m coming in your mouth!”

He was right, of course, and Draco breathed through his nose, ready for it. When Harry started coming in powerful spurts, Draco did his best to swallow the salty liquid, trying not to splutter as it hit the back of his throat. He managed well, for his first time, he thought, though he did have to release Harry when it became too much. He made sure to stroke Harry gently the rest of the way until the man was fully spent and moaning in satisfaction.

A stream of thick white cum was dripping down the side of Harry’s softening cock, and Draco looked at it curiously. Deciding he may as well start getting used to the taste of semen, he licked at it, cleaning Harry’s groin with his mouth the way Harry had talked about earlier.

When he’d gotten all of it he looked up to see Harry watching him with hooded eyes.

“Sweet Merlin, Draco,” the man said. “And I didn’t think you could _get_ any sexier.”

Draco smiled at him, wiping a bit of cum from the corner of his mouth.

“Come here.”

Draco slid up Harry’s body, careful of their still sensitive members, but otherwise enjoying the feel of skin on skin. He kissed Harry, using his tongue, so they could each taste themselves.

“I told you,” Harry said, once Draco had lain down fully next to him. “Enthusiasm wins every time.”

“And taking your time,” said Draco. “Letting it build. I seriously… I’ve never had a blowjob so good in my life.” He looked at Harry. “Next time we should switch roles, so you can experience it yourself.”

“I feel like I did,” said Harry, “just watching and listening to you.” He rolled to face Draco, pulling the blond to him. He ran fingers lightly down Draco’s spine, and Draco nuzzled into his neck. “Stay for dinner.”

“Hm?”

“Let’s just have dinner here, together. Let’s just be here, together, for the rest of the evening, until you have to sneak back.”

Draco pulled back enough to meet his eyes. Harry was looking at him calmly, peacefully, a hand running lightly through his blond hair.

Draco could feel those barriers, those lines, smudging again, so much so that he couldn’t remember where exactly they’d been drawn in the first place. But at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. Later, when he’d come back to his senses, he’d figure it out and draw them back where they belonged.

For now, though, he could simply kiss Harry, and murmur “yes,” and be content to drift through an afternoon with no barriers at all.


	8. Lesson 8: The Magic Button

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your wonderful comments! I love seeing you get invested in all these feelings Draco is starting to develop :) So let's get deeper, shall we?

“I’m sorry… you want to… _what_?”

Harry tilted his head, watching Draco’s reaction closely. “Does it surprise you? It’s not all that uncommon.”

“Really.”

“Yes. Really.”

The calm in Harry’s voice made Draco blink and stare now, rather than just splutter in indignation as he was doing before. But he was still indignant.

“How do you think men get ready for anal sex, if not by using their fingers, and sometimes other things, first?” Harry went on. “The anal passage needs to be stretched, prepared. A person can do that themselves, but often it’s the partner who does it.”

“Yes, all right.” Draco could concede that much, although he honestly hadn’t given it much thought, until now. “But you’re not going to… I mean, we agreed, you know, that you wouldn’t… be inside me.”

“You told me you didn’t want to bottom during anal sex,” Harry said in that same calm, measured tone, as if Draco were a cornered animal that could startle and run at any moment. “Which I understood. I didn’t know you wanted that to apply to all anal play.”

“I…” Draco was stymied. “I didn’t even think about it.”

Harry nodded, then put his half-consumed glass of firewhiskey on the table beside Draco’s sitting room sofa. He turned back to face Draco and clasped his hands in front of him. “All right. Well, you can take some time to think about it for yourself, obviously. I told you that we would steer clear of anything you aren’t comfortable with. But you _are_ going to have to contend with the fact that if you want to have anal sex, even if you are exclusively a top, you do need to get comfortable around the inside of an arse.”

Draco took a sip of his whiskey. “I do understand that.”

“So, that includes using your fingers. It’s a good place to start, I think. We can start with me, so you can learn your way around, and, if you change your mind, I can do it to you as well, later on.”

“Why would you want to?” That was the part Draco wasn’t understanding. As a means to an end, fingering the arse made sense. Of course it needed to be prepared. But why do it otherwise?

“To make you feel good, of course,” said Harry. “Have you ever fingered a woman before?”

“Of course.”

“It’s not really a different concept.”

“But she has a… you know… it feels good to her because she has things that make her feel good.”

“Like a clitoris, for example?” Harry said, arching a brow.

Draco scowled. “I wish you’d stop doing that, you know. Filling in the blank for me when I don’t say the word.”

“And I wish you would just say the word,” Harry said, sounding a bit irritated himself. “I mean honestly, Draco, it was only a couple of weeks ago that you were begging me to bury my face in you and smell how turned on you were. You were telling me step by step how you wanted your cock sucked. I don’t understand how you can talk like that one minute and then get hung up on a word like ‘clitoris’ the next.”

“That’s in the heat of the moment!” Draco huffed. “In the throes of sex, dirty talk is just… natural. But you’re being so clinical about all of this. It ruins the mood.”

He stood up, on the pretense of getting more firewhiskey, but in truth he just needed something to do with himself. This was the first time since Draco and Harry had established their agreement that he was feeling uncomfortable in the situation. He wanted to be open, he really did, but then Harry came over and within five minutes of being settled on his sofa started talking about wanting to dig around in Draco’s arse with his fingers. It was just… unnerving. Draco had never considered having anyone even close to that part of him. It sounded like it required way more vulnerability than he was prepared for.

“When you’re learning your way around another man’s arse, a certain clinical perspective _is_ required, at least at first.” Harry said, retrieving his own firewhiskey again. “A lot can go wrong. It’s important that you’re careful and that you know what you’re doing. That’s all I’m trying to teach you here. I’m trying to help you feel prepared, _more_ comfortable, not less. And I can promise you, in the heat of the moment, fingering can be quite sexy and quite pleasurable.”

“How?”

“Because of the prostate, of course.”

Draco looked at him blankly. It was a word he knew, yes. He knew it was a part of the male anatomy. But he had no idea that it had anything to do with sex.

“The prostate is a gland that can be accessed through a man’s anus,” Harry said, in much the same voice Draco imagined he used with his students. “When stimulated – you know, touched, rubbed, etcetera – it can make a man feel incredibly good. It’s what makes bottoming so good, so long as you have a top who knows what they’re doing.”

Draco took that in. “That’s real, what you’re talking about?”

“Of course it’s real. I wouldn’t make it up. I’m actually surprised that this is the first you’ve heard of it.”

“Well, before you, I didn’t know that many gay men, you know,” Draco said defensively, sitting back down on the sofa again. “So I had no one to tell me about it.”

“To be fair, it’s not only gay men that can get enjoyment out of their prostates. Any man can, straight, gay, bi…”

“With a _woman_? How?”

“Well, women have fingers too, it turns out,” Harry said drily. “And some women will even strap on a dildo and fuck their male partners in the arse that way. It’s called pegging.”

“No,” Draco said, shaking his head. “No. That’s not real.”

“It is real. I know one or two straight men who like it quite a bit.”

“You do?” Draco knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help it. He closed his mouth, mostly so he wouldn’t be tempted to ask Harry to name names. He wondered if it was anyone he knew, like maybe Weasley or someone. That was quite an image, actually, Granger strapping on a dildo and taking Weasley from behind. The thought of it made Draco feel sort of funny… a little disturbed, but also a little… aroused. “Wouldn’t that be emasculating, letting a woman do that to you?”

Harry scoffed. “As opposed to if another man were to do it?” He stared at Draco, seeming really, genuinely annoyed now, which Draco realized was _not_ a common look on him these days, and which he found rather troubling. “If you’ve got it in your head that liking it up the arse makes you less of a man, then you and I are going to have some real problems, Draco.” He downed the rest of his whiskey in one go and stood to get some more.

“I didn’t mean it like that, obviously,” Draco said, almost pleadingly. “Not between two men. That makes sense-“

“So you just have some serious gender hang-ups, then,” Harry said, pouring himself a generous helping of Ogden’s.

“I do not have… _gender hang-ups._ ”

“You do, Draco,” Harry said. He turned back to the blond, his expression sober despite all the whiskey he’d been drinking. “Why else would you be talking about pegging being emasculating, unless you somehow believe that it’s only men who should be doing the penetrating, and women are just supposed to be submissive and take it? Not that I know from direct experience, but hetero sex is as diverse as gay sex, and men and women both can have all kinds of interests and tastes that don’t threaten their masculinity or femininity or whatever genderized bullshit you want to project onto them.”

Draco remained silent, although there were plenty of responses running through his head. He had thought he liked this side of Harry, the one who argued his convictions with passion, even an edge of self-righteousness. When done in defense of Draco and what he liked and needed, it was quite empowering. But Draco was seeing the other side of it now, and it did nothing but make him feel gauche and awkward, like a closed-minded, pureblood prude.

He considered simply asking Harry to leave. This conversation was not exactly getting him in the mood, and he had a feeling Harry was having a similar experience.

But then Harry turned back to him and said, softly, “Maybe I brought this up too soon. Maybe this isn’t the night to do this. I don’t want to push you.”

And there was Harry with his uncanny ability to read a situation, to determine what Draco was thinking without even _looking_ at him. And something about that, or even just the thought of Harry leaving in general, made Draco’s chest clench with panic. He stood.

“Don’t go,” he said, approaching Harry, reaching a hand out to stroke the inside of his wrist. Harry bowed his head. “Stay, please. I promise I’ll… I just need some time to adjust. But I will. I want you here.”

“I know,” Harry replied. He lifted his head to look at Draco again. “The lesson I planned was for you to start to understand the pleasure that the prostate can bring you. I was going to show you firsthand, then have you learn how to find it on me and pleasure me. But we don’t have to do all that, if you don’t want to. We can do something else.”

“I want to do it to you,” Draco said. “I want to learn how to pleasure you in every way.”

Harry’s smile was small and cautious. “But not the other way around? You don’t want to learn how to _be_ pleasured in every way?”

Draco didn’t know how to answer that, so he simply didn’t. He saw Harry shake his head.

“It’s all right, Draco,” he said. He stepped closer, putting a hand on Draco’s waist. “I didn’t mean… I swear I’m not trying to push you. It’s just… this is new for me too, you know? I’m used to men who’ve already been with a lot of other men. I wasn’t thinking about how you might feel-“

Draco stopped him with a light kiss to the lips. He liked how considerate Harry was, he really did. But he wasn’t sure he could handle it at the moment, on top of everything else.

“Let’s go into the bedroom,” he suggested. “And you can tell me exactly how to pleasure you.”

Harry kissed him back, and smiled into the kiss, and said, soft as a hiss, “Yes. Let’s.”

They undressed slowly, kissing a lot in between the removal of each garment. Draco was glad it wasn’t rushed; it let him ease away from the discordant conversation they were having only a few minutes ago and back into that comfortable rapport he could find so easily with Harry. So easily, in fact, that they didn’t always need to speak. Draco knew, just by the way Harry would nudge him with his hand, that he wanted help sliding the sleeves of Draco’s shirt down his arms. He knew, by the way Harry laid himself on the bed and arched his hips, that he wanted Draco to take off his pants and then kiss the soft skin of his hips while he lightly tickled his ribs.

Perhaps it was silent communication. Or perhaps it was that Draco already knew the things that Harry liked, even if he couldn’t remember learning them. They were natural to him already.

They were both naked, finally, with Harry lying flat on his back in the bed and Draco kneeling over him, admiring him. Harry did make a point of speaking now, as Draco was trying to make it clear he wanted some instruction.

“You can play with my cock you know,” the brunet said with a lazy smile. “Hands, mouth, whatever you like. Do it as you breach me. It will help me relax.”

Draco nodded, then gripped Harry’s erection gently to show he had been listening. It wasn’t quite to full hardness yet, but as he stroked it he felt it fill even more with blood and desire, and he placed a light kiss on the side of it, to show his approval. Harry laughed.

“You’ll need lube,” he said. “You already know the incantation to conjure it, don’t you? Unless you’d rather use some you have on hand.”

Draco picked up his wand. “I'll use the spell.”

“Good. We’ll need that. You’ll also need to clean me, inside.”

Draco nodded, fighting a blush. This was a reality of gay sex. It would be no good to get squeamish now.

“ _Scourgify_ is too harsh for this part of a person’s body,” Harry said. “There’s another spell. _Tergeo lenis_. It’s much gentler, but still effective.” He took Draco by the wrist of his wand hand. “Point it directly at my opening,” he said. “And say the words.”

Draco did as he was told, feeling the magic travel through his hand and into his wand. Harry squirmed, but he was smiling.

“It always tickles a bit,” he explained. “But that’s how you know you did it right. Now you can conjure the lube, and push one finger inside me.”

Draco nodded, taking a deep breath. He conjured the slick liquid nonverbally, but in his nervousness maybe conjured a bit too much. It ran over his fingers and dripped onto the bedspread.

“It’s all right,” Harry said. “Lube is your best friend, in this situation. You can never have too much of it.”

Draco huffed a laugh, thankful to Harry’s generosity of spirit, as always. He rubbed the lube between his fingers, making sure that his index was especially coated. Then he lowered the hand, seeking out Harry’s entrance. It was not hard to find, but he paused there, nervous all over again.

Had he felt this way the first time he fingered Pansy in the prefect’s bathroom fifth year? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he had, but must have caught on quickly as the practice soon felt very natural to him. This was different.

“Go on,” Harry said.

His index finger dipped in, encountering that first ring of muscle that seemed to want to keep him out.

“You’ll have to push a bit,” Harry said. “But it’s ok. I’ll be able to relax and pull you in, once you start.”

So Draco pushed, realizing he was holding his breath, but he released it as Harry let out a long, slow sigh, and breathed in again as he felt Harry’s muscles push against him a little at first and then pull him further inside. He gasped at the strength of those muscles.

“Go deeper,” Harry encouraged. “And don’t forget to play with me.”

“Right.” Harry’s erection was flagging a little, and Draco took it in his hand, pumping it gently as he had done before. Harry let out a small sound, a half-grunt, half-moan, and closed his eyes.

“Deeper.”

Draco let the movements of his hand on Harry’s cock become automatic, returning his focus to the finger encased inside Harry.

It was surprisingly soft inside, he noticed as he pushed farther, his index finger most of the way in now. And there was so much _heat_. His cock rather liked the thought of that too, and Draco felt his erection stiffening in earnest. So soft, so hot, so…

“So tight,” Draco said, aware of the awe in his voice.

Harry smiled up at him, his eyes half-lidded. “Yeah,” he said. “I told you I’ve bottomed before, but it’s been a while. I’m going to need to be stretched.”

“You feel good,” Draco clarified, wanting to make sure Harry understood this. “I like the way it feels.”

“Good,” Harry said. “Then it’s time to put in another finger.”

“Are – are you sure?”

“Yes, go on. I’m relaxed. I can take it.”

Draco conjured more lube for good measure, and nodded at the approving smile Harry gave him. Then he pushed his middle finger in to join his index, surprised that the muscles gave way to him without much effort.

“Good,” Harry breathed. “Good. Now work on stretching me. Scissor your fingers.” The brunet made the motion with his own fingers, to demonstrate, though Draco knew what he meant.

He did as he was told, feeling the muscles resist him at first. But as Harry breathed his passage loosened, and Draco was finding maneuverability much easier. He began to experiment, twisting his fingers around, pumping in and out, watching Harry’s face as he did.

“That’s good, Draco,” Harry said between wanton bites of his lip. “I like that. Keep going. Fuck me with your fingers.”

Draco liked the thought of that quite a bit as well, and began moving with new confidence, probing deeper into the passage, still using the scissoring motion to continue stretching him.

Harry moaned a little and ground against Draco’s fingers. “That’s really good. If you want you can – Oh!”

He suddenly stiffened, his head thrown back and his eyes shut tight. Draco froze, panicked that he’d done something wrong and not wanting to move again, afraid he’d hurt Harry even more by pulling out.

But then Harry turned his head and looked at Draco with a dazzling smile. “You found it,” he said. “Well done.”

Draco blinked, and it took him a moment to realize what Harry meant.

“Do it again,” Harry said. “See if you can find it again.”

 _I don’t know how I did the first time_ , he wanted to admit, but thought better of it. He would just explore some more, go deeper, see if he could –

“ _Yes_.” Harry arched against the bed, and Draco knew he had somehow found the right spot for the second time. He didn’t know what to make of it really, since it felt the same as the rest of Harry’s arse, but as he was quite enjoying the reaction he was happy to keep going. He repeated a small movement of his fingers, a slight curl, and Harry moaned with abandon. “ _Draco.”_

Panting through his own overwhelming desire at seeing Harry like this, Draco did it again, this time over and over, rubbing the specific spot that seemed to be _the_ place in small circles.

Harry was writhing and mewling, gripping the bedspread and digging his heels into the mattress for purchase so he could ride Draco’s fingers.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Draco said under his breath. So this was what Harry meant. He didn’t know it would be like _this_. He didn’t know a man could get the kind of pleasure that Harry was obviously getting right now.

_Could Harry come like this? Just like this?_

But Harry answered his question a second later by grabbing one of Draco’s wrists, the one lingering by Harry’s stiff, red erection, and meeting his eyes.

“I can’t take much more,” he said, his voice hoarse and breathy all at once, “without something… without…” He licked his lips. “I need my cock sucked. I need to come. Please, Draco. Please suck me.”

Draco smiled at him. How could he deny the man when he’d asked so nicely, when he was putting on such a show of being a desperate, horny mess after only some small movements of Draco’s fingers?

Draco nodded, but still took one more moment to enjoy the sight before him: the flush covering Harry from his face to his groin, the damp locks of dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his eyes, shining with unadulterated need.

 _I did this to him_. The thought warmed him, curling like steam in his gut as he bent down and licked Harry’s cock from base to tip.

He moaned as Harry moaned. The cock was hard as granite, pulsing against Draco’s tongue. Draco took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue as he went, knowing, from the way Harry had done this very thing to him, how good it would feel.

He tightened his lips and hollowed his cheeks, moving up and down and focusing back on the fingers that were still inside Harry. He probed around again, pumping in and out to match the bobbing of his head. He knew when he hit Harry’s prostate again, because the man bucked up into him uncontrollably, making Draco almost choke.

He felt Harry’s hand brush over his hair, as if in apology, and he placed a caressing but firm hand on the man’s hip to hold him still. Then he concentrated on finding Harry’s sweet spot again, pressing into it before rubbing it with circular motions again.

And then Harry was absolutely gone. He didn’t seem to have words anymore, only sounds: a choked sob, a whimper, and then moaning, continuous moaning that was almost like a tantric chant as Draco circled and circled his fingers and sucked and sucked Harry’s cock. The moan built until it was more like a cry, and Draco, following his instincts as he’d always been encouraged to do, pressed _hard_ , once, with his fingers, and immediately felt cum flood his mouth.

He swallowed and lapped at it, all the while looking up at Harry and his open-mouthed, silent rapture.

He couldn’t help the pride in his smile as he loomed over Harry and Harry looked up at him, whispering, “Perfect.”

Draco bent to kiss him lightly as one of his hands came to work his own cock. But Harry grabbed him by the thigh and squeezed.

“Let me,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Draco replied. He imagined that an orgasm as intense as Harry’s seemed to be would have worn him out.

But Harry was pulling Draco towards him, gripping the cheeks of his arse possessively.

“Like this,” he said, and lifted his head enough to take Draco into his mouth.

Draco groaned at the sensation, suddenly aware of just how turned on he was. Harry couldn’t take him deep into his throat at this angle, but it didn’t matter. He was making up for it with the quick competence of his tongue and the strength of his lips, pumping the base of Draco’s cock with one hand as his mouth worked. Draco simply gripped the headboard and watched, the sight below him spurring him closer to climax as much as the stimulation itself.

And then another hand was playing with his sac, and his perineum, and seeking out his other hotspots, and the heat was building, stirring within him, reaching that threshold and then plateauing for one still, beautiful moment before he started pulsing.

“Harry,” he breathed, cradling the brunet’s head with one hand.

Harry was doing his best to take all that Draco was feeding him, but this angle was difficult, and he pulled away before Draco’s final pulse, making Draco spurt a stream of cum up onto Harry’s jaw and the underside of his lip.

Draco hardly minded, especially with the way Harry’s tongue darted out to taste where the seed had landed. He looked wanton, properly ravished, and more beautiful than Draco had ever seen him. Which really was saying something.

“So,” Harry said, breathing heavily, “there you have it.” His face broke into a grin. “Top marks, I’d say. Wouldn’t you?”

Draco laughed, then slid his legs back, but only so could bend to kiss the man fully, not caring that he was smearing cum along both their chins.

“I’d have to agree, Professor,” he parried before going back to snogging Harry senseless.

***

Memories of that night stayed with Draco all through the rest of the week. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of remembering the way Harry lost himself at Draco’s touch or how incredibly powerful it made Draco feel to see it.

But there were other things under the surface too, things that reared their heads when Draco wasn’t indulging himself in thoughts of the feel of Harry’s arse or the taste of his cock, thoughts, memories, that became stronger and more insistent as the week went on.

And questions. Like what was it exactly that made Draco so averse to Harry fingering him? Draco thought he’d understood his own hesitation, at first. Because the idea was just so foreign, and he never thought it would be the kind of thing that would actually bring him pleasure.

Harry had proved that pleasure was possible, though. Intense pleasure. So what was stopping Draco now? What was stopping him from taking that pleasure for himself?

At first he thought the fear might be physical. It was a sensitive part of the body and Draco didn’t want to get hurt. But that wasn’t it, not really, because he had Harry to help him, and Harry would never hurt him and would stop right away if Draco didn’t like it. He trusted Harry completely, in that regard.

So was it a fear that it simply wouldn’t be good, that somehow his body was different than Harry’s or other men’s and it would simply be a letdown? No, that wasn’t it either. He was built just like any other man, wasn't he? And even if he didn't end up enjoying it, that was hardly the end of the world. Not to mention that if anyone could find Draco’s prostate and know what to do once he found it, it would be Harry Potter: Gay Sex God. The likelihood that he  _would_ enjoy it was high.

No, it was something else. Something he didn’t particularly want to examine too closely. And yet the questions kept coming, and he couldn’t seem to stop them.

_What’s holding me back?_

_You already know,_ said another voice inside him, one that he didn’t fully recognize but that sounded vaguely pureblood, wicked and judgmental.

 _Getting fingered is just_ too gay. _It’s just crossing the line, isn’t it?_

Draco’s mouth twisted in disgust at that voice. He didn’t really believe that, did he? How could he, when he’d taken so readily, so enthusiastically, to sucking cock? Surely that was about the gayest thing a man could do, right? And he hadn’t even thought twice about it.

Then again, Draco had always thought of the mouth as an important tool for sex. Kissing, licking, biting, sucking. He’d done all that with his female partners as well. He’d kissed their lips and necks, he’d sucked on their nipples, he’d licked their cunts. At the end of the day, such practices weren’t all that different on a man. Yes, a cock required different techniques and the resulting orgasms were quite different as well. But not as different as Draco would have actually thought. It was about reading your partner, being creative, and, as Harry had so thoroughly taught him, remaining enthusiastic.

His arse, on the other hand, had never been a part of his sexual experience before. He’d never wanted it to be. He hadn’t considered for a moment asking Astoria to put a finger inside him, let alone a dildo.

_Men don’t do that._

_No_ , he said to the voice. That wasn’t true. He knew that already. He knew it. Plenty of men did, and it didn’t stop them from being men. Harry did it, and he was a man, through and through. A sexy, strong, confident, self-possessed man. So why couldn’t Draco be _that_?

 _Perhaps other men do it,_ said another voice, this one more mild, more haughty. _But not Malfoy men._

Draco snorted. He knew where that voice came from. His father.

“Professor?”

Draco started and looked up from his desk. Raisie McNeal was standing in the doorway of his classroom, watching him with a timid curiosity.

“Miss McNeal,” he replied, straightening up.

“I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Not at all. Do come in.” In fact, at this point, he welcomed the distraction.

“You wanted me to share my research with you on the counter-effecting properties of Asphodel. I’ve made a copy of my notes for you, so you can see if I’m on the right track.”

“Excellent.” Draco took the parchment from her and looked it over. Unsurprisingly, it was all very neatly written and well organized, with clear headers for each section and the most important points emphasized. He looked over the different sections and then looked back up at her. “These are complete?”

“I-“ The girl hesitated. “Yes, sir.”

“Yet you don’t have anything here about poisons.”

She shifted nervously. “No, sir.”

“May I ask why not?”

She chewed her lip and shrugged, staring at him with wide eyes. Draco arched a brow, indicating that this wasn’t a sufficient answer.

“I suppose it makes me a bit… uncomfortable, sir.”

“Poisons do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?” He thought he already knew why, but he wanted to hear her say it.

“Because they’re designed to hurt people, and that’s wrong,” she said, and Draco had to fight a smile at the suddenly Gryffindor-esque conviction in her voice. He had been questioning since he met her what it was that got her sorted into that house, but now he could see it. “I don’t have any interest in researching something that would hurt people. What if my research led to yet another poison being developed, another way to hurt someone? That would just be… I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

Draco gave her a small but paternal smile. “Would you like to sit down?” he asked her, conjuring a chair behind where she stood.

“I-“ She stared at the chair. “All right.” She dropped into it and scooted it closer to the desk.

Draco leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “How many poisons are there in existence now, Miss McNeal?”

Her eyes widened again. “I don’t know the exact number. Hundreds.”

Draco nodded. “And how many of them contain Asphodel in their recipes?”

She shook her head and gave him a sheepish smile. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Because you didn’t research it.”

She bowed her head. “Yes, sir.”

“How many antidotes contain Asphodel?”

Her head snapped up again. “Antidotes?”

“That’s right.” She was looking at him blankly, so he continued. “Here’s a hint: there are a lot more antidotes that contain Asphodel than poisons.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Do you want to know why?”

She leaned forward. “Yes, sir.”

Draco really did smile now. It just couldn’t be helped. He grabbed a bit of parchment and a quill and began writing something down.

“I have a book for you to read,” he told her. “It’s exclusively about poisons and therefore in the restricted section of the library, but this note will give you permission to check it out.” He handed her the parchment, and she looked at it eagerly.

“ _Understanding Poisons and their Properties,_ ” she read.

“It’s by a potioneer named Edgar Versa who has spent his entire life devoted to understanding the nature of poisons. But not for the reasons you think. Read the introductory chapters and see what he has to say. It may surprise you. There’s also an entire chapter on Asphodel and its importance with regard to antidotes. Take some notes on that and bring them to me. I think you’ll find it all very enlightening.”

She stared at the parchment a few moments longer, but finally nodded. “I will, sir,” she said, putting the note of permission safely in her bag. When she turned back to him, Draco spoke again.

“Knowledge, information, is neither good nor evil by itself, Miss McNeal,” he said. She stared at him, unblinking. “It’s only when we bring intention into it, when we start to use that knowledge for our own purposes, that we enter into questions of ethics. You should not be afraid of what you learn. You have the courage of your convictions. You will not hurt someone else by simply knowing what you know, not if you have no intention to.”

“You really believe that, sir?”

“Yes. I believe ignorance to be far more dangerous, in fact.”

She thought about that. “Or knowing part of the truth, but not all of it. Acting on only partial information. That can be dangerous as well.”

“Precisely. For example, how can we counteract a poison unless we know everything there is to know about every ingredient that goes into it? How are we supposed to determine the antidote unless we know the poison inside and out? Ignorance gives us nothing. Knowledge gives us everything. It gives us the tools to fight. And the tools to heal.”

She sat for a little while longer, just watching him. “Yes, sir,” she said finally. “Thank you.”

Draco nodded, then stood. “You’re very welcome. I will keep these notes and look them over, and when you have the notes on poisons and antidotes, I’ll take those as well.”

She stood too, understanding that she was being dismissed. “Thank you, sir, for everything.” She hesitated a moment longer, fingers drumming lightly on the desk. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she told him, the words coming out in a rush. “You’re a really good teacher.”

“Thank you, Miss McNeal,” Draco said, warmth filling him. “Coming from you, that means quite a lot.”

She gave him one final, embarrassed smile, then turned to go. Draco sat back down in his chair, aware that he was grinning.

It shouldn’t make him this giddy, a part of him insisted, helping young people. There was so much they didn’t know or understand, and they made so many stupid choices, obsessed over stupid, trivial things. Why should he want to help them?

But then he rolled his eyes and decided he was quite fed up with that part of him, the part of him that was always questioning his choices, nagging him about what he _should_ be and what he _should_ care about and what he _should_ do. He was bloody sick of _should._

 _Think of all the things I_ could _be and do and feel and care about, if I gave myself the chance, if I took a bit of risk for once in my life. If I lived by my own convictions._

_Ignorance gives you nothing. Knowledge gives you everything._

He was a good teacher. He had knowledge to give to his students, to help them.

And he had his own teacher, who simply wanted to help him as well. And a good teacher made all the difference.

***

Draco contacted Harry via paper dragon about a lesson the next day, and Harry agreed. Usually it was Harry initiating, but Draco thought he might be trying to give the Slytherin space to sort out what he wanted. He had good intuition about that sort of thing.

And Draco’d had plenty to sort out. He still did, really. He knew he was battling a lifetime of pureblood expectations that were continuously reinforced by his parents and his peers. There were still the remnants of an innate sense of wrongness when he thought about someone putting a finger into his arse, but he knew that wrongness wasn’t really real. It was just an opinion, and it didn’t have to belong to him if he didn’t want it to.

He came to Harry’s room at the usual time, when the castle was dark and the children had all popped off to their respective houses. He was let in quietly, greeted with a soft kiss after Harry closed the door.

“I’m glad you’re here,” the brunet said, sounding like an echo of Raisie McNeal from the day before. But Draco knew the two were glad for very different reasons, and that made him smile.

He kissed Harry back. “So am I,” he replied, though there was a searing, roiling nervousness in his gut for what he was about to do.

“What’ll you have?” Harry asked him, pulling away and making his way towards his liquor cabinet. But Draco didn’t answer, lingering by the door, and Harry turned back to him after a moment. “Draco?”

He had something to say, something important, before he could move forward. He waited until Harry was really watching him, furrowed brow and all, before he spoke.

“I know I have hang-ups. I _know_ that. I don’t entirely know why I have them about some things and not others, but I do.”

“Draco…”

But Draco held up a hand, wanting Harry to let him finish.

“I didn’t think twice about wanting to learn how to suck a cock, or even about wanting to learn how to play with _your_ arse. But when it comes to mine… I don’t know. I start to wonder what my friends would think and I hear my father’s voice in my head telling me that Malfoys don’t _do_ that sort of thing and I just…” He trailed off, not sure how else to explain.

“It’s all right, Draco,” Harry said gently. “I understand.”

Draco nodded, because he did believe that Harry understood. “I’m _tired_ of it, though. I’m tired of having hang-ups. I know they won’t all go away overnight, I know I have to work on them. But I _want_ to. You said I'm brave even though I don’t know it. I want to be brave. I want to be open. I want to let you inside me, if just with your fingers, to start, to see, to _know_ … You said I deserve pleasure. I believe I do. I don’t want all this… _rubbish_ in my head holding me back. I want…” He swallowed. “I want to try tonight, if… that’s all right with you.”

Harry closed the distance between them, his whole face glowing with warmth.

“You’re really rather wonderful, you know that?” he said. He put his arms gently around Draco’s waist and placed his cheek against Draco’s. “And you _are_ brave.” Draco closed his eyes, placing hands on Harry’s upper arms. “I’m going to take very good care of you, Draco, I promise. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

Harry’s voice was like a balm, one that could find all the sore spots, Draco’s fears, insecurities, and soothe them away. And that made Draco _believe_ him, like he had never let himself believe anyone.

“I know.” The nerves were still there, but they were calmer now, feeling more like excitement or anticipation.

“Would you like to have a drink, talk for a bit, relax?” Harry’s mouth was lingering near Draco’s, like he was nearly kissing him, and it made Draco’s jaw ache with a sudden craving.

“No,” he said. “I want you now.” _Before I lose my nerve._

But that was implied, and Harry knew it. Draco could tell from his understanding smile.

“Come with me, then,” he said.

Once in Harry’s bedroom Draco undressed himself quickly. He wasn’t interested in the slow game of unwrapping each other, not this time. He thought Harry might laugh at him, make some quip about his eagerness, but he didn’t, only followed his lead, though his stripping wasn’t quite as hurried.

When he was naked Draco lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling a moment.

 _This will be fine_ , he told himself. _This will be better than fine. This will be_ good.

The bed shifted as Harry clambered on, and Draco lifted his head to look at him.

“You’re still wearing your pants,” he commented.

Harry looked down. “Yes. I thought you might… prefer it. I thought you might be more comfortable…”

Draco blinked at him.

“Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I want to see all of you,” Draco told him. “I always want to see all of you.”

Harry stared down at him, an odd expression on his face. Then he climbed off the bed and shimmied out of his underwear. Draco kept his eyes on the hanging cock, watching it start to spring to life under his gaze. He heard Harry chuckle.

“Even you staring at me turns me on,” he said. “What does that say?”

Draco looked at his face. “That we have good chemistry?”

Harry smiled and kissed his stomach. “Yes. We definitely have that.” He reached across Draco a moment, to a drawer in one of his nightstands. He extracted something, then held it up for Draco to see. It was a small tub. “My favorite lubricant. It warms easily, and should help you relax.”

Draco nodded his consent.

“That’s the most important thing, that you relax,” Harry went on, and Draco noticed his voice had gone softer and more melodic, almost as if he were trying to lull Draco into some kind of trance. Perhaps he was. Whatever it was, it was sort of working, actually. Or perhaps Draco just really liked the sound of Harry’s voice. “Breathe deeply. Let your body sink into the bed.”

“Are you trying to finger me or put me to sleep?” Draco asked him with a smile. He _did_ feel rather relaxed, though.

Harry’s eyes glinted at him with warmth and amusement. “Hey, whatever works.”

“But if I’m asleep, I can’t enjoy what you’re going to do to me.”

“Very true,” Harry agreed. “And I’m going to make sure you enjoy it.” One lubed palm was already caressing Draco’s cock, stroking it to life. The lube was warm on his skin, and Harry’s hands were firm and confident. Draco hummed and arched, encouraging him. “Good,” Harry said to him in that same, soft voice. “Just feel what I’m doing. Just enjoy it.”

That was easy, and Draco heard himself sighing at first in pleasure, his eyes closed and his head lolling. But he was getting harder and harder, thanks to Harry’s expert hand, and the sighs were more like soft moans, after a while.

He heard Harry whisper something, and a swirling, tingling sensation filled him momentarily. He grunted in surprise.

"It’s all right,” Harry said. A lubed finger came to caress Draco's entrance. “Just feel. Just be.”

It was a bit more difficult now, though, knowing what came next. Draco focused on his breathing, and the activity of Harry’s other hand, to get himself fully relaxed again. The finger circled around his entrance, getting him used to the touch, then it pushed in. His muscles clenched a moment in confusion, but Harry circled the finger again, then pushed a bit farther.

“Push against me, then pull me in,” he said.

Draco didn’t know what he meant at first. But then he thought about the words and did as he was told. He felt the resistance his muscles were giving, and then he clenched them inward and-

“Hah,” he breathed out. Harry’s finger was halfway inside him.

“Good,” Harry soothed. “Really good. How is that?”

Draco considered it, and realized it felt exactly like how one would expect it to feel, like there was a finger inside him. It wasn’t unpleasant, though it wasn’t particularly pleasurable either. “It’s fine,” he said.

“Can I keep going?”

“Yes. Keep going.”

Harry dipped further inside. Draco’s internal muscles twitched and clenched a bit at the continued intrusion, but still, it didn’t hurt. Draco let himself relax further.

“Perfect, Draco,” Harry whispered. “This is all it is, really. I’m just doing one finger tonight, all right? This is all it is.”

Draco opened his eyes, blinking up at Harry. The brunet smiled down at him. “Not so scary, right?”

Draco shook his head. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Harry said, his finger starting to move, to pump and circle, “ _this._ ”

Draco stared at him in confusion for one more moment, and then-

“Ah!”

What _was_ that? It was like lightning had struck him, right in the center of his body, and then zipped through the rest of him. But it was _good_ lightning.

“There it is,” Harry said quietly, almost to himself. He moved his finger some more, and the feeling struck again, stronger and longer this time.

A deep, rolling cry escaped Draco’s throat. He couldn’t _believe_ how good that felt. He couldn’t believe that no one had told him about this before now. Why didn't men do this to themselves all the time?

“Harry!” he said, after the third pressing. “Fuck!”

“Does it feel good, Draco?” Harry’s voice had darkened considerably, making something deep and red gather in his gut.

 _Of course it fucking does_ , he wanted to say. But he only managed a strangled “Yes. Fuck yes.”

“Can I keep doing it, then?”

Draco knew Harry was teasing him, but he opened his eyes and glared anyway. “Don’t fucking stop,” he said. “Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He heard a deep chuckle, and then that mouth was too busy for laughing. It was on his cock, engulfing his throbbing erection in heat and wetness.

And there was heat _inside_ him, too, where Harry’s finger was pushing in a rolling motion against that one, incredible spot, and Draco really thought there were fireworks bursting in front of his eyes.

Or maybe the fireworks were in his cock, or maybe behind his cock, in the deepest, buried part of him, the place that only Harry had ever touched.

And they were in his fingers and toes, too, and in his lips and tongue, and _in_ his eyes, which were pricking and stinging, the sharpness only driving him higher, making him sob.

And then the movements of Harry's fingers sped up, and his mouth sucked harder, and Draco was simply volcanic, hottest in the parts of him that were inside Harry and the parts of Harry that were inside him, flowing, cresting, boiling magma, pounding against the surface, waiting to – waiting to – waiting to -

Erupt.

“Harry!” He was aware of that one bright, shining sound, that name. It was all he heard, and the man himself was all he saw, but what he _felt…_

He felt everything: intense, blinding white heat, and then floating, suspending in flight, and then a tumble down, into soft… welcoming… release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed. It was suddenly as though the bed had engulfed him. It was suddenly as though he was a stone lighter. It was suddenly as though something he had been carrying forever, something that had a strong, strangling grip on his throat, had just let go, sliding down and away from him, slinking off into the darkness and finally setting him free. He blinked, and something wet dripped from his eyes.

He felt movement happening around him. A bedspread was being pulled out from under his sweaty back and then being draped over him, and a warm body was nestling in beside him on the bed.

_Harry._

The man pulled Draco close, letting him bury his face, which he realized was streaked with moisture, in his neck. A calloused hand rubbed gently along his back.

“Worth the risk?” a voice asked in his ear.

Draco kissed Harry’s throat. “Worth everything.”

The grip on him tightened, and Draco sighed and melted into sleep.

***

Draco awoke, blinking, the next morning, wondering what was different. But all it took was a turning of the head, and he could see.

The bed wasn’t his, and there was someone else in it.

He hadn’t gone back to his rooms the night before as he was supposed to. He’d stayed, without even thinking about it.

Harry stirred next to him, and Draco simply watched and waited.

When Harry opened his eyes and saw Draco, he smiled. Then he inched closer, capturing Draco’s mouth with his.

Draco smiled too, and let himself be rolled over onto his back, Harry atop him. They kept kissing, and nothing needed to be said.


	9. Lesson 9: Other Places Mouths Can Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the amazing comments as always! Here's our next chapter: smut, silliness, and more unspoken feelings (of course). All my favorite things. Also people dancing around to great music while they cook delicious food, because apparently no Thunderbird fic is complete without that. Hope you like it! <3

Draco unsealed the letter clutched in his hand with a familiar dread in his stomach. The seal itself was green wax stamped with the Malfoy crest, a sure sign that the letter was from his father rather than his mother. Only Lucius Malfoy could be that pretentious when sending a letter to his own son.

He read it quickly, wanting to glean the main points of it without being subjected to the indirect criticism in the language that his father had been plaguing him with so much lately. Lucius did not approve of many of Draco’s recent choices, and they both knew it. So why the Malfoy patriarch felt he had to keep _hinting_ at it was beyond the son’s understanding.

The letter was about Christmas plans, as Draco knew it would be. He’d made the mistake of informing his mother that he wouldn’t need to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday break. So few students were staying and there was plenty of staff that preferred to stay as well to oversee them. Draco had been pleased at first. A few weeks off from his Hogwarts duties would be welcome.

But then he’d remembered that he’d be returning to an empty manor with very little to do except go visit Pansy, which he couldn’t very well do _every_ day. Not to mention that his parents would surely insist on seeing him for a few days over Christmas. It made him wish he’d thought the thing through properly, as neither of those situations were particularly appealing.

He considered sending a reply saying he’d been wrong and he was going to have to stay at Hogwarts after all, but his parents would know he was lying, and that would only make things worse. There was simply nothing for it. He was going to have to go to France for Christmas.

“Is that hatemail or something?”

Draco lowered his parchment to see Harry looking at him across the staff table.

“I thought it might be, what with the way you were scowling just now.”

Draco would have asked the man what he thought Draco had done to deserve hatemail in the first place, but with the way Harry had one eyebrow cocked to match his lopsided smirk of amusement, Draco knew he was joking.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he replied. “Though ‘hate’ is too strong a word. Is there such a thing as ‘passive-aggressive-disapproval-mail,’ do you think?”

Harry grinned. “There is now, apparently.”

“Then that’s what it is.”

“From your father?”

“How’d you guess?

Harry shrugged one shoulder. “I pay attention.”

Draco had to look away from the glint of affection in Harry’s eyes. It wouldn’t do to appear the blushing paramour while surrounded by the students and their fellow staff.

It had been a bit more difficult to hide lately. With what the two had shared so far there was no denying that Draco was feeling a particular closeness to the Gryffindor, and this had carried over into their interactions outside the bedroom. He hoped that from the outside it simply looked like the development and deepening of a friendship, a mutual platonic kindship between two teachers. But if they started making eyes at each other over the breakfast table all the time people were bound to notice. And that just wouldn’t do.

“He expects me to come to their estate in France for Christmas,” Draco explained, returning his eyes to the letter. “And I can’t think of any way to get out of it.”

“Ah,” Harry said in understanding. “Yeah, I can’t imagine a reasonable excuse for that.”

“No,” Draco agreed. “What are you doing for Christmas, then?”

“I’ll be at the Burrow with the Weasleys on the actual day as usual,” said Harry between bites of sausage. “And otherwise I’ll probably just spend time with Ron and Hermione, and Teddy a bit, and perhaps see some other friends, you know.”

Draco nodded, believing he could read between the lines of that. He was sure Harry would see his two best friends and his godson, true, but it was likely he would also be spending time with his other lovers. It wasn’t something they really talked about, the fact that Harry was also seeing other people. It would just be bad form to bring it up while in the throes of their own weekly trysts. Draco didn’t even know how often Harry left the grounds to go on other dates. But now that Harry was about to have some time off, it made sense that he would take advantage and have some fun with others.

 _Which is perfectly reasonable,_ Draco reminded himself. It was what they had agreed to. In fact, it was for the best, really. Things had gotten a bit intense between them. This holiday would help create some distance, and that was a good thing.

 _Maybe_ _I could go out and find another lover for myself,_ he thought. Was he ready? Not to fuck anyone; he intended to wait on Harry for that, to make sure he knew what to do. But he had enough experience in other ways that he could hold his own with a male lover.

“Do you have to go to France for the entire holiday?” Harry asked him, interrupting his wandering thoughts.

Draco let out a dry laugh. “Sweet Merlin, no. I refuse. I’m not subjecting myself to them longer than I have to. I’ll just stay at the manor. It’s not ideal, but I’ll be free to visit friends as well, which will be nice. I promised Pansy I’d visit her family. Her son is my godson, you know.”

“Mm, right,” said Harry.

The Great Hall was beginning to stir with motion, a sign that the first classes of the day were going to be starting soon as students stood to make their way there. Draco folded his letter and put it in his pocket, then stood.

“I’ll see you later,” he said to Harry.

“Sure,” Harry said, giving him a small smile. “See you.”

***

But it wasn’t all that much later that Draco saw Harry. In fact, it was right before lunch, in Draco’s classroom after his 6th year NEWT class had just released.

Harry closed and locked the door behind him and even put up a silencing charm, and Draco watched him do it in confusion. It had been weeks since they’d done anything in a classroom, including even discussing their secret arrangement. But Harry obviously wanted to discuss it now.

“I’ve had a thought,” the brunet said, coming to stand in front of Draco’s desk.

“Oh?” Draco asked, sorting through some papers, doing his best to appear nonchalant.

“How attached are you to spending the majority of your holiday at your manor?”

Draco blinked at him a moment. “Not even remotely attached. I don’t even really want to stay there.”

Harry nodded, as though he had been expecting that answer. Well, he probably had, given the way Draco talked about the place these days. “What would you think about spending it with me instead? You know, stay at my place.”

Draco froze in the middle of the stacking of his 6th year essays. “Stay with you.”

“Right,” said Harry. “I mean, we wouldn’t be able to have the entire time, obviously. You’ll still have to go to France and me to the Burrow for Christmas. But before and after… why not?”

“Won’t you…” Draco was trying to find the right question he wanted to ask, his brain still trying to process this unexpected invitation. “I thought you were planning to spend time with friends.”

“Yeah, and I’d still like to do some of that. But we can coordinate our schedules. You wanted to visit friends too. I’ll just go see Ron and Hermione when you’re off visiting Pansy.”

“But don’t you… have…”

“Don’t I have what?” Harry asked, watching Draco with his head tilted.

“Other people you want to see? Other… you know, lovers, I mean.” Harry stared at him, and Draco pressed on. “That was something I understood, you know. And I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that, of you spending time with them as well.”

“Oh, um…” Harry scratched the back of his head, a half smile on his face. “Well, to be honest… I haven’t really… been seeing anyone else lately.”

Draco felt his brow furrow. “You haven’t?”

Harry laughed. “When would I have the time, Draco? Usually, during the school year, I go out once a week at the most. I’ve been seeing you more often than that. Between classes, and other duties, and you… well, I’ve been kept rather busy, haven’t I?”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Apparently he’d been monopolizing Harry’s time without realizing it.

Harry laughed again, and for longer this time. “You’re sorry,” he repeated. He looked at Draco, his eyes full of mirth. “The last thing you should be is sorry.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to think. “Oh.”

“If I wanted things to be different, they would be,” Harry said. “But this is working for me right now. So long as it’s working for you?”

Draco watched him a moment, then nodded. Of course it was working for him. There was no way he could pretend otherwise.

“Great,” said Harry. “Then I don’t see why we’d have to put it on hold for the holiday, especially if we’d enjoy it more together than separate. It could be really relaxed, you know. We’d just stay in do whatever we feel like, and go out and visit our own friends when we want, and have space from each other when we want, and, you know… continue our lessons, when we want…” He trailed off suggestively, looking at Draco with obvious bedroom eyes.

Draco had to fight a grin. Harry was rather dangerously seductive when he wanted to be. Of course, Draco already knew that. How else had he wound up in Harry’s bed in the first place?

He hadn’t been expecting the invitation. After all, he’d just been thinking about how it might be good for them to be separate for a little while. On the other hand, was he really going to pass up nearly three weeks of sex with Harry in favor of sitting around his manor alone? Of course he wasn’t.

“All right, then. I’m in.”

“Excellent.” Harry’s grin was wide and unabashed. He leaned forward and kissed Draco. “My holiday plans just got considerably more appealing.”

Draco couldn’t help the smile in return, or the honest reply as he kissed Harry back. “So did mine.”

“Shall we go to lunch, then?” Harry asked after he pulled away.

“Let’s.”

As they walked through the castle Harry entertained him with a stories of his 3rd year classes’ first encounters with a boggart, and Draco smiled and laughed and made disbelieving noises at the most outrageous bits, as he knew he was expected to do. But part of him was also thinking back to what Harry had just revealed, the thing that Draco hadn’t been able to make room in his mind for at first.

_He’s not seeing other people. Only me._

It didn’t really mean anything, he knew, other than that Harry was simply too busy to date around at the moment. But still, to know he was satisfying Harry as he was, that the man felt no need to seek elsewhere…

_I must be doing something right._

It made something sweet tug and warble in his chest, something he figured must be pride.

Yes, pride. That’s what it was.

***

Draco was only at the manor about five minutes before he had to snort in amusement and be glad he would be spending a majority of his holiday with Harry. The place was… not gloomy exactly, as it was quite clean and airy. It was just so… quiet, lifeless. It needed a family to live in it, not simply a lonely bachelor.

 _Someday,_ he told himself, with much more determination than he’d felt a few months ago, _I will have a real family here with me._

But today was not that day, and he would just have to live with that.

He’d only come by briefly to check on the estate, as was wise to do every now and then with him away at Hogwarts most of the time now. He had one of his house elves, Nixie, walk him through the main floor of the house and debrief him on any recent maintenance that had been necessary. There hadn’t been much. The wards on Malfoy Manor were ancient and well established, which meant little could be done to damage the house from outside forces. And the elves in the estate’s employ were plentiful and hardworking enough that things rarely ever fell into disrepair out of neglect.

“It all looks to be in order,” he told the elf. “Excellent upkeep, as usual.”

Nixie beamed at him and bowed low. “Would Master be liking anything else? A cup of tea, perhaps? An early supper?”

“That’s very kind of you, Nixie, but I won’t be staying long. I’m going to be staying with a friend. I will likely come by again on Boxing Day, just to check that any packages have arrived. So feel free to hold anything for me here until then. No need to forward them to me.”

“Very good, Master,” said the elf. “We will be most glad to be seeing you again.”

Draco smiled and nodded thanks to the elf. He actually believed her when she said that, mostly because he made a point of being kind and generous to his elves, unlike his father. He had learned early on that respect, rather than fear, was the best incentive for the elves to give good service. He certainly noticed a marked improvement on the maintenance of the estate after he became lord of the manor, though his father would never acknowledge as much.

 _But you don’t have to think about him_ , he told himself. _Not for another week, at least._

He had Harry to think about instead, where he was going next, and what it would be like when he got there.

***

When he arrived by floo to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place Draco had to wonder for a moment if he’d somehow garbled his words or gotten the address wrong. The sitting room he’d tumbled into didn’t look anything like he’d expected a room in the Ancient House of Black look. For one thing, it was very clean, and last he’d seen or heard of it the very neglectful house elf that “kept up” with the place didn’t clean very much at all. For another, the furniture was new, or at least only a few years old. The sofa and armchairs were upholstered in gray suede that matched, but not overly so, the patterned blue and white carpet. The walls were a soothing, understated green, and the room was finished with a sleek coffee table in dark wood and matching side tables for the electric lamps.

It looked like the sort of sitting room Muggles might have, essentially.

But after he’d absorbed all that he’d realized there _was_ something familiar in the room. Or rather, someone, as the case may be.

Harry was sitting in one of the armchairs, looking through stack of parchment and chewing on his bottom lip. He looked up at Draco after a moment.

“You’re here.”

“I am.”

Harry stood and strode over to him, giving him a light kiss. “Welcome to my home.”

Draco looked around the space some more, though he’d taken it in quite effectively on first glance. “You’ve obviously redone the place,” he noted. Not that he could blame Harry for wanting to. The house had been nothing short of depressing before the end of the war, as far as he knew.

“All of this floor and most of the second,” said Harry. “The important bits of the second floor, anyway, like my master suite and a couple of guest rooms. But it’s a work in progress.”

“Haven’t you had this property for going on seven years now?” Draco asked, before realizing his tone sounded a bit… incredulous, if not also judgmental.

But Harry simply gave him a wry smirk and said, “Nine years, actually, though I didn’t start renovating until after the war. But I’ve been so busy, and not here as much as I thought I would be, and that makes progress very slow. I try to accomplish a thing or two when I _am_ here, at least.”

“You do the renovations yourself?” No wonder progress had been slow.

Harry shrugged. “Some of it, but I also hire people for a lot of it. I just have to handle it… delicately. Kreacher is sensitive to new people being in the house, and he can sometimes interfere with the renovations.”

Draco blinked a moment, wondering whom Harry was referring to, before realizing that Kreacher must be the house elf.

“He’s protective of the estate?”

Harry chuckled. “Something like that.” He picked up the stack of parchment and shrunk it, putting it in his pocket. Then he kissed Draco again, longer this time, though it was still relatively chaste. “How about a tour then?”

“That would be lovely.”

The main floor of the house turned out to be a tasteful and seamless mix of magic and Muggle, in both form and function. The furniture and appliances were modern and top of the range, but there were marks of magic all over the house, in wizard photographs and portraits hanging on the walls and glass cases of Black family heirlooms and various enchanted objects on shelves and in corners.

Draco had seen this sort of thing before. While pureblood estates always had that unmistakable air of pure magic that had been many centuries in the making, the homes of half-bloods and Muggleborns that he’d had reason to visit over the years tended to be some kind of blend. But he’d always found the integration awkward and a bit disjointed, like you were standing in two very different rooms simultaneously. This, though, he had to admire for its utter naturalness.

Although there were some things that stumped him. Like the fact that Harry had a wizard phonograph, with which he could play his extensive record collection, that was charmed to be able to “throw” the music it was playing into whatever room on the main floor a person might be standing in. Though this seemed like quite a nice and useful thing to have, what Draco didn’t understand was that for some reason Harry also felt a need to keep a small white box called an “iPod” in a cradle in the kitchen, which was apparently also full of music, somehow, and which was connected to something called a “sound system” which also played music throughout the main floor. As far as Draco could tell, it served the exact same function as the phonograph and was therefore perfectly redundant.

“Why do you have both?” he asked Harry while Harry showed him how the iPod thingy worked, his thumb rubbing in circles along a gray wheel on the front that made part of the box glow with a faint blue light.

“Well, some of my music is in my record collection, and some of it is on my iPod.”

“You have a lot of records,” Draco pointed out. More than any person really needed, he thought. Why did Harry need more music on top of that?

“Yeah. But the iPod can hold up to ten thousand songs, you know. Anything I buy on CD I put on here, so it’s consolidated.”

Draco only raised a skeptical eyebrow and stared at Harry. The brunet gave him a sheepish smile.

“I just like having both,” he said. “They’re both incredible in their own way.”

“But they do the same thing.”

“Yes, but… _differently._ ”

Draco looked away and smiled, unwilling to admit that he found even this idiosyncrasy charming. Harry had a way of being gracefully obstinate about his choices that was hard not to admire.

After showing him the main floor Harry took him upstairs, and it was immediately apparent which parts had been renovated and which hadn’t. Harry’s master suite, the guest bedrooms, and both of the bathrooms looked fresh, new, and homey, while down the hall, towards what Harry called “the dreaded study,” the walls were dingier, the carpet shabbier, and a trace of some dark family magic still lingered in the air.

“That’s my next personal project,” said Harry, waving a hand in the study’s general direction. “Cabinets in there are full of doxies and booby traps and Merlin knows what else. I’ve been putting it off a bit for that reason, and because even once it’s cleaned out I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it. I have a study downstairs and don’t really need the space, but Hermione’s always harping on me about letting too much dark magic linger in the house, so…” He shrugged.

“What about the third floor?” Draco asked, purely out of curiosity. “Has that been touched yet?”

Harry’s face brightened. “Now _that_ I’m quite excited about. I’ve got magical renovators coming in and wiping out the entire floor. It’s just a couple more bedrooms and a parlor, anyway, which I don’t need. So I’m turning it into a training center. Partially for me, since I like to stay in shape and keep my dueling skills up, but also because I’ve been thinking about taking on some students during the summer as well, Hogwarts graduates who want to refine their skills before they try for the Auror Academy.” He patted his pocket. “The renovators just sent me the initial plans. That’s what I was looking at when you arrived.”

“I didn’t realize pre-training for the Academy was common.”

“It’s not,” said Harry. “But the Academy has gotten a lot more competitive in the last few years. Interest is very high, and I have a whole group of NEWT students who are planning to go into the Corps once they graduate. Not all of them will be accepted, and some of them want additional training so their chances are improved. I told those who expressed an interest that I would be willing to help them.”

“So you’ll be teaching in the summer as well as the rest of the year?”

“Why not?” Harry shrugged again, his a mouth a half-smile. “It’s what I love. Besides, I think of it more as taking on some apprentices rather than students. They already know a lot, and will be able to do a lot of their work on their own or together. I’ll be more of a supervisor.” He rubbed a hand across Draco’s back. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, surprised, but followed Harry anyway. He was getting his own room? He’d rather assumed he’d be staying with Harry.

“I thought you might like to have your own space,” Harry said, in that strange Legilimency-without-eye-contact thing he could often do. Draco had to wonder if his body language was really that much of a giveaway. “In case you want to work or read or relax on your own.” He opened a door and gestured Draco inside.

The room was spacious but cozy, with a desk, an armchair by the fire, and a large canopy bed with simple but soft-looking blue linens and duvet.

“The bed’s quite comfortable, if you would prefer to sleep here as well.” Draco turned to see Harry watching him, his face relaxed. “But know that my bed is always open to you. I quite enjoy having you in it.”

Draco huffed a laugh, catching the knowing glint that had come into Harry’s eyes. He turned away and looked around the room some more. “This is very considerate. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Harry stepped closer to him, closing the distance enough to put a hand on Draco’s waist. “It makes me happy to have you here. I think we’re going to have quite a nice holiday.”

Draco closed the distance even more, enough that their lips were nearly touching. “So do I.” He kissed Harry, using just a bit of tongue, eliciting a contented hum from the Gryffindor. Draco smiled against Harry’s mouth. He could already feel that familiar heat in his gut starting to kindle, and one of his hands snuck down to grab Harry’s arse, pulling him closer.

 _Maybe I should make it clear he’s always welcome in my bed as well_ , he thought between the kisses and soft moans. _Maybe I can show him that right now._

But then came the popping sound of an elf Apparating, and the two men pulled away automatically, their heads turning in the same direction.

The oldest house elf Draco had ever seen stood before them. His back was hunched practically in two, his gray skin wrinkled and spotted. His eyes were cloudy and there were large tufts of white hair sticking out of his large ears. But he was clean, Draco noted, and the pillowcase he wore was freshly laundered, if not a bit worn.

“Hello, Kreacher,” Harry said conversationally to the elf. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Draco Malfoy. He’s going to be staying with us for most of the holiday.”

The elf bent low (though, with that hunched back it didn’t really take much) and said in a high, scratchy voice, “Kreacher is being deeply honored to be serving a noble descendant of the House of Black. If Master Draco Malfoy is needing anything, he is only asking.”

Draco was somewhat surprised at the graciousness, and he turned to Harry, who merely grinned at him.

“Very good, Kreacher,” he said, trying to make his tone match Harry’s but aware that it still had a haughty edge that he couldn't really help. “I will certainly take you up on that.”

The elf turned to Harry. “Will Master and guest be wanting dinner?”

“I think it’s about that time, yes,” Harry replied. He looked at Draco.

“That would be fine.”

The elf vanished with another pop. Harry gave Draco a light peck on the lips.

“I should go down and help him. He’s… a bit slow nowadays. I imagine you want to get to eat _before_ eleven o’clock tonight?”

Draco smirked at him. “You cook?”

“I cook,” said Harry. “And very well, I’ll have you know.”

Draco laughed. “I guess I’ll just have to see that for myself, then.”

“Won’t even take my word for it,” Harry grumbled, but he was fighting a smile, and his mouth reached for another kiss. Draco obliged him, wondering if he could convince Harry to leave the elf to the dinner preparation and stay here with him to christen the bed instead.

But Harry pulled away after only a moment and said, “Why don’t you stay and get settled in, then come join us in the kitchen when you’re ready?”

Draco almost argued, before remembering that they had the whole night, the whole _week_ , ahead of them, and there would be plenty of time for him to enjoy all the different ways he liked being with Harry.

“Yes,” he agreed. “All right.”

It didn’t take him long to unshrink and unpack his trunk. He’d packed light, assuming he wouldn’t need much for this first part of his holiday. It wasn’t like he and Harry were going to go out to dinner, or to a bar or club, or to go flying, or even out to the park for a stroll, come to think of it, lest somebody see them together. The realization troubled him a moment, at least until he remembered that this was his choice, and that he had no interest bringing the disapproval of his family, friends, and most of the wizarding world down on his head by revealing himself as one of Harry’s lovers. It just wasn’t worth it.

Especially since it was just sex anyway.

As he made his way to the main floor again he was greeted first with sound rather than sight: a catchy, staccato beat, cheerful horns, and a man belting in a soulful voice:

“ _Our hearts were ringing, in the key that our souls were singing, as we danced in the night remember, how the stars stole the night away._ ”*

And as he walked into the kitchen there was Harry, moving about to the beat while seasoning something in a pan on the stove.

Draco wasn’t entirely sure what to do. The music was loud enough that he wasn’t even sure Harry or the elf heard him come in. So he sat himself at the table, figuring he could at least watch the show if nothing else.

Harry did see him, though, and put a glass of sparkling wine in front of him with a smile and a wink before returning to work.

Not that it looked much like _work_ , really, Draco observed as he sipped on the crisp, bubbly drink, tapped his feet to the music, and followed Harry with his eyes. The brunet was doing something Draco could only classify as “cook-dancing.” He glided around easily, rocking and swaying as he chopped garlic, spun around to tend to the duck breast on the stove and render the fat, and then slid sprouts into another pan with a dash of said fat, tossing them effortlessly with a flick of his wrist. All the while his hips moved and his feet did this little shuffle as he sang along to the song when he knew the words.

“Ba de ya, say do you remember, ba de ya, dancing in September…”*

Draco rested his elbows on the table and his mouth against his clasped hands to hide his grin. As if he needed more reasons to find Harry charming. This was almost too much.

How could something so silly in theory be so sexy in practice, he wondered. Perhaps it was the easy grace with which Harry moved, or the fact that he didn’t care that he was being watched. It could have been either, but then there was also that he just seemed to so _competent_ as well. He didn’t appear to be following a specified recipe, but rather his own intuition, or perhaps simply working from memory. He didn’t use magic at all, but then, as Draco saw the Gryffindor dice a shallot quickly and efficiently like he’d done it a million times, he obviously didn’t _need_ magic for this. It seemed like it would just slow him down, break the flow he had created with the music and his natural understanding of the tools in front of him.

Draco was aware that his mouth was watering, but whether it was because of the wine he was slowly sipping, or the delicious smells wafting from the range, or the sight of the man in front of him, it was impossible to say.

Oh, who was he kidding? He knew which one it was.

Kreacher was almost an afterthought, puttering about and sometimes tending to the potatoes as they roasted in the oven. Mostly, though, it seemed to be his job to not get underfoot of Harry as he danced the food along to its completion.

It was sort of sweet, though, the way Harry would stand aside when Kreacher had it in mind to open the oven and prod the potatoes on occasion, as if to prove he was somehow contributing, if only in an honorary way.

Being considerate of that Kreacher wanted to feel useful, that was what Harry was doing. It wasn’t a way that Draco had ever seen a wizard interact with a house elf before, and it gave him one of those odd bouts of homesickness he could get sometimes when he was with Harry. It didn’t make any sense, but it was there.

“Come here,” Harry said over the music, and Draco looked to see that it was he Harry was talking to. Harry beckoned with a finger. “I want you to try this.”

Draco obliged him, standing and approaching the brunet as he stood at the range, holding out a spoon of the cherry sauce he’d just concocted.

“Tell me if this has enough salt,” he said.

Draco wanted to argue that he wouldn’t know, before remembering that even though he wasn’t a cook, he had a pretty good palate nonetheless. He parted his lips and sucked a bit of sauce from the spoon.

A wonderful symphony of flavors filled his mouth: the tang of cherries, tart and sweet, the subtle bite of garlic smoothed out by the butter Harry had just swirled in, a kick of black pepper on the back end, all rounded out with just the right amount of salt.

“It’s perfect,” he said, licking his lips.

Harry looked at him through hooded eyes in a way that made Draco’s face warm, but he looked right back. Then Harry kissed him, dipping his tongue in as though _Draco_ were a delicious sauce that needed tasting.

“It is, isn’t it?” he murmured, and Draco smiled softly.

 _All right_ , he could admit to himself. _This isn’t just sex_.

It was more than that, something that couldn’t really be defined or known, something that didn’t need to be. It didn’t have to follow a recipe, a set path. It could just be what they made it, with all the tartness and sweetness and richness and bite and kick they wanted to give it.

It wouldn’t last forever. Draco knew that. It would last as long as it lasted. It would run its course, and they would go their separate ways.

But damn if it wasn’t delicious in the meantime.

***

“And I _told_ her she was wasting her time with that ambitiousless gopher from the Goblin Liaison Office, but does she listen to me? Of course not. She absolutely let her chance with Emmanuel pass her by, and she has no one to blame but herself.”

Draco nodded absently, aware that he was only half listening to Pansy. The rest of him was watching Theo and Gideon on the other side of the room, playing with one of Gideon’s many toys.

“I don’t know when I became resident matchmaker and Mind Healer for everyone, but it appears as though that’s what I am.”

“Oh, you love it,” Draco replied, rolling his eyes and returning his attention to the witch. “You love meddling in other people’s affairs. Especially when it comes to love and sex. Don’t deny it.”

She looked away with a soft smile, refusing to answer. Draco watched as Gideon explained something to his father in his broken, lispy English while Theo leaned in, trying to understand.

“How has it been, being back at the manor?” Pansy asked him.

“It’s fine,” Draco said, deciding to avoid mentioning he wasn’t really staying at the manor at all. Pansy would undoubtedly assume he was staying with his mystery lover and start asking all sorts of questions with the hope that Draco would let something slip. Draco didn’t trust himself not to, so he kept mum on the whole thing.

A part of him was dying to tell it all, though. Not only because being with Harry Potter was so surprising and novel it would undoubtedly entertain Pansy on a level she had not been entertained by anyone in a long time, but also because things between them were just… _good_ , and the time he was spending with Harry was becoming a large and important part of his life.

He wanted to tell Pansy everything he had learned – not the bits about how to please a man; Pansy already knew plenty about that, Draco had no doubt – but rather what he had learned about the give and take of pleasure, indulgence without guilt, the openness Harry encouraged in him, and how much Draco found himself able to let go of the resentment towards Astoria and what she had done to him.

He was happy, and while he could tell her that truth all day, he had no way to explain _why_. He wished he did.

 _You chose this_ , he reminded himself.

“I thought it might be… painful for you,” Pansy ventured.

“I’ve been spending a lot of my time out of the house, and that helps.”

“With your secret lover?”

Draco sighed. He should have seen that inference coming. “Doing various things,” he hedged.

Various things, like watching Harry cook them dinner while dancing, enjoying said dinner over conversation as sparkling and refreshing as the wine they were sipping, and falling tipsily into bed afterward so he could grope and lick and caress just about every inch of Harry’s skin he could find, paying _special_ attention to his most sensitive areas, of course.

Not that he’d spent every minute with Harry over the past few days. He’d had some marking of final exams to do, as did Harry, and the brunet was also spending some time in the “dreaded study” cleaning and decontaminating, leaving Draco free to find his own diversions. He’d ventured into Diagon on his own to do some shopping, and read by the fire, and went out once a day for a bracing walk through the neighborhood in the cold December air.

But he’d had dinner with the man each night, followed by a romp in Harry’s spacious bed, followed then by sleep. He could have played it coy and gone back to his own room after sex, he supposed. Harry would have respected the choice. But Draco didn’t much see the point. Waking up next to Harry meant they could enjoy round two in the morning, and why pass up opportunities like that?

“The thing about being a teacher,” Draco went on, to distract his friend from conversation about his secret lover, “is that the work never ends. I’ve had exams and final papers to mark, as well as lessons to plan for next term. I’m not even really getting a proper holiday. There’s too much to do.” All right, this wasn’t strictly true, but Draco’d never had any discomfort with a little hyperbole.

“Hmmm,” Pansy said, as though she knew exactly what he was up to (which, come to think of it, she probably did). “If you say so.”

Draco nodded but said no more on the subject.

“Will your parents come to the manor for Christmas?”

“I’m going to them,” Draco said.

“Oh, well that will be nice, to visit France.”

“Sure,” said Draco drily. “It will be quite lovely. We’ll sit around sipping on mulled wine, making conversation, exchanging gifts, while my father finds every opportunity possible to just so _subtly_ mention all the ways I am a failure as a man. What fun.”

Pansy stared at him a moment. “All pureblood parents, at least on some level, are horrible. We’ve always known that.”

“And you just accept it?” Draco countered. “ _You’re_ a pureblood parent now, you know. Are you going to do to Gideon what our parents did to us?”

“Of course not,” said Pansy. “Times are different now. The world has changed, is still changing. I’ll admit I was… willing to go along with my parents’ beliefs when we were in school, because I was young and stupid, and I didn’t know any better. But now…” She glanced at her son, who was playing with a train set and babbling to himself while Theo looked on. “We’ve already agreed we won’t be arranging a spouse for Gideon. He will be free to choose, and someone of any blood status, or any gender for that matter, that he so desires.”

Draco was floored a moment, more on the gender commentary than the blood commentary. “Really?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Yes, really.” She put a hand on her chest subconsciously, right where her heart lay underneath. “He is a part of me. His happiness is everything to me.”

As if the little boy knew he was being talked about, he stood and made his way over to his mother, a red train engine that looked much like the Hogwarts Express clasped in his small hand.

“’Ook, Mummy,” he said. “I have tain.”

“I see that, love,” she replied, her face softening until it was almost unrecognizable. “You have a train. Do you want to show your godfather?”

Gideon climbed onto the sofa and into Draco’s lap. “’Ook, Daco,” he said. “Tain.”

“A train,” Draco echoed, taking it from his godson and looking it over. “It’s a very nice one.”

Gideon went on to tell Draco all about his train. Or, at least, that’s what Draco assumed. He couldn’t really understand most of what the boy was saying. Still, he nodded and hummed and encouraged the talking, all the while looking at the boy’s sweet face and dark hair, seeing bits of Theo and Pansy both in his features.

Eventually their stomachs all began to rumble, and Pansy suggested they have some lunch.

“Foo'! Foo'!” cried Gideon, excited.

“Food!” Theo roared. He scooped his son from Draco’s lap, tossing him about and blowing a raspberry on his belly, making him giggle uncontrollably.

“’Gain, Daddy, ‘gain!”

Draco had to swallow and look away. It didn’t really bother him to see Pansy with her son, or to spend time with Gideon on his own. But there was something about seeing that, about seeing the love in Theo’s eyes, and the pride. It was hard to watch.

_That could have been me._

Sometimes he wondered if it was the loss of a son that hurt him more than the loss of his marriage. Perhaps that was true.

But it did no good to dwell. That _could_ still be him someday, once he’d recovered from his heartbreak fully and met the right woman. He could have everything that Theo and Pansy had. In fact, he was determined to.

***

When Draco arrived back at Grimmauld that afternoon there was a commotion going on upstairs. He drew his wand and was about to Apparate up there and to the rescue when Kreacher came hurtling down the stairs at surprising speed, some kind of bundle clutched against his chest. He was cackling madly, paying Draco no mind as he passed him and made his way down the hall.

Stomping on the stairs alerted Draco that Harry wasn’t far behind, and sure enough the brunet appeared only a moment later, wand in hand and an expression of determination on his face.

“Which way did the little bastard go?” Harry asked Draco.

Assuming he could only mean Kreacher, Draco pointed towards the kitchen. To his surprise, Harry didn’t immediately take after the elf, but instead stood there and let his shoulders slump.

“He’s already taken it to his hidey-hole, no doubt.”

“He got ahold of an artifact?” That was the only explanation Draco could imagine. He was aware that the elf had quite mixed feelings about the prospect of Harry going through the desk and cabinet in the second floor study, convinced that Harry was going to get rid of some precious Black family heirloom in his cleaning frenzy.

“A few things, I think,” said Harry. “I didn’t see what. I don’t even care, really. It’s just that some of that stuff is dangerous. Just this summer Kreacher took an old baby blanket into his little hole and it tried strangled him in his sleep. Thank Merlin I was home at the time, or Kreacher likely would have died. He doesn’t seem to care, though. Even ratty old blankets are precious to him.”

“The Blacks had _baby_ blankets that were cursed to strangle people?”

“Apparently. A deranged lot they were, the Blacks,” said Harry.

Draco raised his eyebrows but silently acknowledged the point. He’d heard tell of the Black madness from his mother. Not all of them had it. Both Narcissa and her sister Andromeda had avoided the condition, though Bellatrix had not been exempt.

“Makes my life more difficult,” Harry continued. “Even more so because Kreacher is so devoted to this house and everything in it. He’s a bit deranged himself, but then, who can blame him?”

“What will you do?”

“Wait for him to calm down, then convince him to let me test what he took for curses. If it’s all safe then he can keep it, for all I care. He might, at some point, release it to me to get it appraised and displayed, but that sometimes takes a few months.”

“Why do you bother with all that?” Draco asked him. “You could just order him to hand everything over to you. Doesn’t he have to obey?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, technically. But I don’t like giving direct orders like that, and Kreacher is… he knows how to find a way around orders, if he has a mind to. Not to mention, he and I have a complicated relationship as it is. It’s important that I maintain a level of transparency, a level of trust. He goes a bit… barmy, otherwise, and that’s no good for either of us.”

Draco stared at the man a few seconds, wondering what series of events led to such a complicated relationship with a _house elf_ of all things. But he quickly remembered that Harry often didn’t do things like other people, and this situation was only further evidence of that.

“How is the dreaded study coming along?” he asked.

Harry blinked and looked at him, as though coming out of some kind of reverie. “Fine, I suppose.” He seemed to realize for the first time that it was Draco standing before him. He gave the blond a chaste kiss. “I’ve got through the desk, at any rate. And how was your day? How is Pansy?”

“Very well. She still wants to know the identity of my mystery lover, but I’ve given nothing away.”

“Ah,” said Harry. “Of course not. She probably assumes it’s a woman.”

“Yes, of course. I’ve given her no indication otherwise.”

Harry didn’t say anything a moment, glancing down the hall as if waiting for Kreacher to reappear.

“Harry?”

The brunet turned back to him. “Have you ever…” he began.

Draco blinked at him, waiting for him to go on. But Harry just shook his head.

“Never mind.” He leaned in for another kiss, and Draco obliged. “I’m well done with the study for the day, and I want to give it a few hours before I talk to Kreacher. So, do you want to play chess or something before I start dinner?”

Draco smiled. Harry was a decent chess player, enough to keep the game interesting, though Draco had beaten him every time so far. Harry never seemed to mind, though; he just enjoyed the game itself.

“Yeah, all right. Let’s play.”

***

“Yes,” Draco breathed. “Mmmmm, _yes_ , Harry.” He was gasping for oxygen already, though Harry hadn’t even properly taken Draco into his mouth yet. He was still merely kissing and licking the shaft, warming him up. But that was wonderful in its own way, with Harry doing it. Draco had learned to love the sweet tension in his cock, pleasure pulled taut like the strings of a harp waiting to be plucked. Harry always knew which notes to play first.

But then the sensations were gone altogether, and Draco let out a whine of protest.

“Why are you stopping?”

He could make Harry out in the dim lamplight of the room. The man rested on his elbows as he looked down at Draco.

“I want to try something new.”

“All right. Go _on_ , then.”

Harry chuckled at the poorly masked urgency in Draco’s tone. “You haven’t heard what I want to do yet.”

“Has anything you’ve done to me _not_ been pleasurable?” Draco countered. At this point he had no reason to doubt Harry in anything, not when it came to sex.

“No,” said Harry. “And I think you’ll like this one too. But, given how you reacted at first when I wanted to finger you, I wasn’t sure if you would be open to it.”

Draco stared at him a moment, his mind flipping through the possibilities. Harry was implying it would have something to do with Draco’s arse, but seeing as how they’d already agreed that Harry wouldn’t be fucking Draco anytime soon, the blond couldn’t think of what it might be. “What is it?”

“Have you ever heard of rimming?”

Draco went on staring.

Harry licked his lips. “I want to put my mouth on your arse and... lick you. I want to fuck you with my tongue, essentially.”

A hand brushed lightly over Draco’s cock, making sure the erection didn’t flag as Draco absorbed what Harry was saying.

 _No fair,_ he thought idly _._ If Harry had presented this to him before he’d started his ministrations to Draco’s cock, Draco would have been too baffled to be able to consider it. _But now_ _I’m so turned on even that prospect sounds appealing._ _The prospect of him putting his_ tongue _in my_ arse.

A peal of laughter escaped him, his aroused state lending a slightly hysterical edge to the sound.

“Harry Potter wants to eat my arse,” he said aloud, and this was followed by more laughter bubbling up and out of his throat.

Harry stared down at him indulgently, letting Draco come to terms with that.

“It’s just…” Draco giggled. “It sounds like a taunt I would have given you in school. ‘Eat my arse, Potter.’ Only…” The laughter was in his belly now, coming from deep within him. “Only you would have _wanted_ to.” The hilarity of that idea had fully taken over, and he put a hand over his stomach, feeling it shudder against his palm.

Harry allowed him another half minute of that before he squeezed his ribs, making the blond yelp.

“Oi,” said Draco, breathing heavily. He tried to make his voice as snarky as possible – difficult, through the amusement – as he repeated, “Eat my arse, Potter.”

Harry snorted, giving in and laughing in earnest. He huffed a moment, then said, his mouth twisting with mock anger, “Suck my dick, Malfoy.”

Draco cackled, unable to help it. “Then kiss my bollocks, Scarhead.”

“So lick my taint, Ferret-face.”

Draco threw his head back and roared with laughter. He could feel that Harry had buried his face in the blond’s chest, his whole body shaking.

“Slurp my cum.”

“Tug my knob.”

“Get buggered.”

“Get fucked.”

“Wanker.”

“Tosser.”

Draco tried to pinch Harry in the ribs, but his hand was captured and a very loud, unpleasant raspberry was blown against his stomach.

“Bastard,” said Draco, still laughing.

“Prick.”

“Git.”

“Prat.” Harry had Draco properly pinned and was still laughing down at him with a wide grin. After a moment his face softened, his mirth waning into a few chuckles. “A ridiculous, sexy, irresistible prat, that’s what you are. But I know how to make you stop laughing once and for all.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

The amusement in Harry’s face flickered out entirely, and something much hotter came to life beneath it. “Turn over,” he said.

Draco arched a brow. “You’re really going to do this?”

“I am. And you’re going to love every second of it. You’re going to be begging me for more, in fact.” He rocked back and forth a couple of times, his hardness brushing against Draco’s and bringing the blond’s erection back in full force.

Draco had no idea _why_ Harry would want to do such a thing, or what in magic’s name would make it that pleasurable for Draco, but who was he to argue? If Harry really wanted to lick his arse – he suppressed another wave of laughter at that – then he could have at it.

“Challenge accepted,” he said, and rolled over onto his stomach.

The first thing he felt was that gentle cleaning charm inside him, tickling him into a couple more giggles. Those subsided, though, as he felt a hand come to caress his arse, running along the smooth skin a moment before skimming the crack gently, making Draco shudder. He ground against the sheets below him, enjoying the soft friction on his erection. He wasn’t sure how he would feel when the licking commenced, but being touched by Harry always felt good.

Harry nipped at the back of one of his thighs, and Draco couldn’t help a small yelp of surprise. But Harry did it again, farther up the thigh this time, and Draco gasped instead, more prepared for it now.

“Spread your legs a bit for me,” Harry murmured against his skin.

Draco bit back a moan, the request making him feel wanton and exposed in the sexiest way possible. He did as Harry asked, and was rewarded with a light breath ghosting along his perineum.

“Mmm, yeah, like that,” said Harry, his tongue flicking out to taste the spot, applying a light bit of pressure with the very tip.

Draco bucked and ground into the mattress again with a moan.

How was this so hot already? He could feel Harry hovering right there, at one of his most sensitive areas, but he couldn’t see the man, and had no idea what he was going to do next.

Harry kissed his flesh and licked again, his tongue traveling down the back of his sac a moment before moving up again, over his perineum, and farther still. The strong, wet muscle kneaded lovingly against his skin, working his way up Draco’s crack.

“Fuck,” Draco mumbled into the pillow below him. Harry was really doing this, and it was foreign, and odd, and… erotic as hell.

Harry paused at Draco’s entrance, and the blond realized he was holding his breath in anticipation. Hands came up to his cheeks to pry them apart, and then Harry’s face descended, his lips finding Draco’s hole and giving it a deliberate kiss. Draco released a shaky breath as he felt that tongue venture out again, running a small, tight circle around the edge of his opening.

“Gods!” Draco barked out before biting his lip hard. He didn’t want to give Harry satisfaction just yet by admitting how sexy he found this experience already. He’d never be able to live it down.

But then Harry moaned, like he was enjoying Draco’s taste, and his tongue dipped in and started circling, and Draco was suddenly aware that he was matching those sounds with needy sounds of his own.

 _Harry Potter is eating my arse,_ he thought with depraved fascination. He rocked his hips back and forth in tiny thrusts, gaining some sharp, much-needed pleasure for his weeping cock. _And he_ likes _it._

Harry’s tongue plunged further inside, brushing and playing at the edge of Draco’s internal pleasure center, and the blond had no choice but to give in.

“Fucking _hell_!” he cried, pushing back against Harry’s face. “Fuck _yes._ ”

Harry’s tongue started to work more enthusiastically, and Draco could do nothing but grind against him and spur him on.

“That’s right, Harry. That’s _it_. Fuck me with your tongue. Bury yourself in me.”

Harry groaned long and low in response, the throaty sound one of undeniable appreciation. Draco was working himself hard against the mattress, building the molten need with every thrust, but Harry kept right up with him, not letting the powerful massaging of his tongue on Draco’s inner walls falter.

The tongue inside him was so close to his prostate that it was _almost_ there, but this only made Draco reach harder for pleasure. He was aware of just how lewd he must look, humping the bed shamelessly while Harry ate him out, but that realization only drove him closer to climax. There was no one here to see it but Harry, and Harry _loved_ it. Of that there was no doubt. And Draco loved it too. He loved what Harry could turn him into.

“I’m gonna fucking come!” Draco told him as he felt his pleasure peaking. “I’m gonna come from you tongue-fucking me, Harry! Oh, Gods!” He was amazed, and incredulous, and so completely turned on by the idea that his announcement alone was enough to send him over the edge. He came right into the sheets, gripping them tight with his hands while he rode out his pleasure. He moaned and moaned into the pillow as his cock’s pulsing crested before starting to wane.

The high of his orgasm was so heady that it wasn’t until the fog cleared that he was aware of Harry’s cock rubbing along his skin. He turned his head to look behind him, and saw that Harry was using his hand as well as a globe of Draco’s arse to give his own cock some friction, looking as wanton as Draco felt as he ground against the blond. Their eyes locked.

“That’s it, Harry,” Draco rasped, his mouth dry. “Come for me. Come all over me.”

“Fuck,” Harry bit out, and did just that, spurting onto Draco’s arse and lower back with rope after rope of cum. “Gods,” he groaned, his eyes shutting as he reveled in his climax.

Draco collapsed against the bed, not caring about the cooling, sticky mess below him. He could hear Harry’s harsh panting a moment, then heard the muttering of a cleaning charm that removed the streaks of cum from Draco’s body.

“Budge up,” Harry said, nudging him with a knee.

Draco groaned but complied, giving Harry the space to clean the sheets with another spell. He rolled over onto his back and felt Harry plop down next to him after a moment. An arm wrapped around him, and Draco hummed in approval.

“I told you,” said Harry, his tone smug.

Draco opened one eye to look at him. “Yes, all right,” he admitted finally. “That was bloody fantastic. I suppose at this point that I have no good reason to doubt you anymore.”

“Glad you’re finally learning,” Harry replied, sounding satisfied.

“Believe me, I’m learning plenty.”

“Good.”

They were quiet for long enough that Draco started to drift off, the shelter of Harry’s warmth around him pulling him slowly into sleep. But then he was suddenly aware of Harry’s lips on his neck, bringing him back into consciousness.

“When do you have to leave for France?” the man asked him.

“Not until the morning of the 24th,” Draco replied. “I have a portkey scheduled for 10 o’clock.”

“And when do you get back?” Harry was up under his jaw now, sucking gently.

“Afternoon, Boxing Day. I’ll go by the manor briefly and then come back here.”

“Mmmm.” Harry nibbled on Draco’s earlobe a bit. “So only two nights without you in my bed. I suppose I can live with that.”

Draco smiled. “How _will_ you survive without me, I wonder.”

“Lots of wanking,” Harry replied without missing a beat. “Lots and lots of wanking.”

Draco chuckled, choosing not to point out that Harry went plenty of nights without him when they were back at Hogwarts. He liked what Harry seemed to be implying, that he just couldn’t get his fill of Draco.

Draco was starting to feel something similar about Harry.

“Well, when I get back, we’ll have two whole weeks more, won’t we?” he said.

Harry hummed and finally settled his face against Draco’s neck for sleep. “Good. I’ll be savoring every minute.”

Draco felt his stomach flip at that confession, finding it impossible to reply aloud.

_So will I._

* * *

*Words from “September” by Earth, Wind & Fire. Lyrics by Maurice White and Allee Willis, 1978.


	10. Lesson 10: Even Saviors Have Daddy Issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the wonderful comments! I can't get enough of them!
> 
> Here's a hefty and emotional chapter for you. Not in a bad way, though. But please do pay attention to the additions to the tags, especially if references to illness or abuse are triggers for you. <3

Draco watched the star anise pod bob around in his mulled wine, hearing only vaguely the way his mother cooed temperately over whatever box of jewelry she’d just opened. Considering there were five she’d already opened, and at least another two or three to go, Draco had to wonder how she mustered the enthusiasm for even that.

Christmas morning with his parents had never felt so quiet and small. It didn’t make any sense why, as when Draco was married that only added Astoria – one other person – to the celebrations. But last year had been full of excitement and energy, as Draco and his wife had opened gift after gift from the elder Malfoys that were really intended for the baby: little shirts and trousers, soft, airy gowns for sleeping, tiny socks and shoes, books up on books, and enough toys to practically fill a nursery. Conversation was never far from the topic of the child, and how weren’t they just so thrilled it was a boy (they were), and if they had picked a name yet (they had), and if Astoria was just so ready, at eight and a half months, for the baby to go ahead and come out (she was).

So maybe that’s what he was remembering, why that Christmas had felt so full. It wasn’t full of people. It was full of spirit, of happiness. This though, was altogether different.

“Draco,” his mother said, pulling his attention to her. “Would you like to open another?”

“Of course,” Draco said. He picked up a slim parcel wrapped expertly in gold paper (undoubtedly by one of the elves; Narcissa Malfoy didn’t do _wrapping_ ). Inside was a wooden box, and inside that was a quill.

“It’s self-correcting,” his mother told him. “I picked it out myself. It’s not like those cheap ones they sell at Flourish and Blott’s or other places. These are handcrafted and carry multiple, long-lasting charms to check spelling and neaten handwriting. I thought it might be useful to you, with all that marking you do these days.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Draco said, glad he could actually mean it. “That’s very thoughtful. I will put it to good use soon as soon as I get home.”

He snuck a glance at his father, who appeared to not be paying attention and was merely staring into the fire. Draco knew better though.

“Thank you, Father, for the quill,” Draco said, knowing, in the back of his mind, that he was asking for trouble.

Lucius turned his elegant head, his long, silver-blond hair swaying a little as he did. “It was not my doing.”

“Well, even so, it was your money that paid for it.”

“Draco,” his mother admonished softly. It was hardly polite to speak of money when exchanging gifts, but Draco found he didn’t care. He was watching his father.

“I’m just trying to demonstrate my gratitude,” he said. He wasn’t sure what made him want to bait his father like this; he never had in the past. He usually took the snide little comments about his insufficiencies the way a Malfoy son was supposed to, with aplomb and a mind to be better, more sufficient, in the future.

But he was quite tired of it. He was quite tired of a lot of things.

“And I am trying to demonstrate that your gratitude is ill-placed,” the Malfoy patriarch replied, returning his gaze to the fire.

“And why is that?”

“Because I would never choose to gift you with something so crass as a self-correcting _quill_ , simply so you can be more efficient in your paltry choice of a career,” the man replied acidly, finally seeming to have snapped.

Draco clenched his teeth, feeling a powerful surge of anger come over him. Not for the comments about Draco’s career choice – those were hardly a surprise – but for the insult directed at his mother. He could see, as he glanced at her, that her cheeks had turned pink, and she looked away, no doubt embarrassed, and also likely hurt, by Lucius’ words. He stood.

“Well, I can see the festivities have come to a close,” he said. If he remained in the room much longer, there was a very good chance he would hex his father into oblivion, and that would rather ruin his mother’s Christmas, even if it made Draco’s more satisfying. He turned to his mother. “Thank you, Mother, for the quill. And for your graciousness, your generosity, and your thoughtfulness. It’s nice to see that _someone_ in this house is living up to the name of Malfoy.” He saw his father’s mouth twist in a sneer out of the corner of his eye, and smirked openly. _You see?_ he wanted to say to his father. _I can do passive-aggressive insults as well as anyone. Aren’t you just so proud of me?_

But he didn’t. He simply turned and left the room.

By the time he made it back to his bedroom he was vibrating with anger. His father had always been able to wind him up better than anyone – with the exception, perhaps, of Harry Potter, back in his youth – but he didn’t remember it ever being this bad. Whatever criticism he’d had of Draco, Lucius had always been loving and protective of Narcissa. Draco couldn’t understand what had changed; perhaps his parents were in the midst of some sort of row that put them at odds. He could readily admit that there was much about his parents’ marriage that he didn’t understand or wasn’t privy to.

He was so full of anger, in fact, that it took him a moment to realize that there was a gray eagle owl waiting for him on his writing desk. He stared at it a moment, wondering why it seemed familiar but not immediately recognizable. And then he understood. It was Harry’s owl – Demeter, he thought her name was – who he’d only seen a few times. His heart jumped in his chest, especially when he saw that the owl carried with her a small package that was addressed to him.

“Hello, Demeter,” he said to the creature, testing it out. It seemed his guess on the name was correct, because she hooted in a friendly way and stuck out her leg. Draco untied the package. “Perhaps you’d be so kind as to wait for me to write a reply?” he asked her as he gave her an owl treat.

She hooted again in what he assumed was agreement, taking the treat and flying to one of the bookshelves. He set the package aside and unrolled the letter.

 

_Happy Christmas, Draco._

_I’ve been thinking of you since you left yesterday, especially when George showed me this particular product that he’s just developed for his shop. It seemed apropos for your current situation. I’m about to head to the Burrow for Christmas morning celebrations but I wanted to send it now in the hopes you would receive it in enough time to make your own holiday more pleasant. I have other gifts for you when you return, of course, but this one seemed more urgent. It is more a gift for the whole family, really, so feel free to share._

_A couple of drops in your father’s tea, for example, might do the trick._

_The house is not nearly as interesting without you in it. I am already anticipating your return to me tomorrow, as I’ve composed a few lesson plans for us to go over. I have some new material that I believe you will find quite stimulating._

_Until tomorrow._

_Yours,_

_Harry_

 

Draco smiled, finding his anger effectively driven out by curiosity and a general feeling of warmth rising up in him. His eyes lingered a few moments longer over Harry’s words, enjoying his subtle hints at their sexual escapades, before curiosity won out, and he reached for the package to open it.

It contained a small bottle of blue liquid, and he immediately recognized the label as being from the surviving Weasley twin’s joke shop. He let himself roll his eyes (Harry had sent him a gift from _there_ , of all places?) but then read the label, seeing that the potion contained inside was something called “The Bully’s Demise” and appeared to be mainly targeted at children of Hogwarts age.

He turned the bottle over to read the other side, both skeptical and intrigued.

“Show that bully he’s full of hot air,” he read aloud softly to himself. “Torment your tormentors by adding this simple potion to any drink and watching the pyrotechnics.” He snorted to himself as he kept reading silently. Apparently, any drinker of this potion would be plagued with excessive flatulence every time they uttered a cruel word towards someone else.

It was absurdly childish, fitting for a Hogwarts student, certainly. But did Harry really think that Draco would use something like this on his father, punish the man’s cruelty with… _gas_?

Though he couldn’t help reliving the snide comment Lucius had made only a few minutes ago and imagining what it would have been like if the insult had been followed by a sudden, loud breaking of wind. He snorted again, then giggled, then started laughing in earnest.

It was absurd, but perhaps that was the point. It made Lucius Malfoy’s words far less impressive than they had seemed at the time.

_The point is to undermine the bully, not hurt them._

It was actually rather brilliant in its simplicity, but then, hadn’t the Weasley twins always had a knack for that? And Draco was beginning to think that Harry had not sent the bottle to him because he believed Draco would actually _use_ the product, but rather because Draco would be undoubtedly entertained by the _idea_ of using it. That alone was enough.

Draco chuckled some more and shook his head, placing the bottle on the desk. He glanced at Demeter, who was waiting patiently for him on the other side of the room, and grabbed a piece of parchment to write a reply.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_A very Happy Christmas to you. What a thoughtful and suitable gift. It is a true friend who knows a man’s needs before he is aware of them himself._

_I hope your time at the Burrow has been enjoyable. We have finished opening gifts here and are awaiting the serving of Christmas dinner. In the Malfoy household said meal is always an elaborate affair and enjoyed by all, though whether that will be the case this year remains to be seen. I suppose it depends on what we have to drink with it, and whether some of us accidentally drink something we didn’t intend to._

 

Draco paused, smiling to himself, then wondered if he was being too subtle for Harry to get the joke. He didn’t think so. He continued the letter.

 

_Of course, a delicious meal is always made more enjoyable by pleasant company, but for that I’m afraid I must wait another day. A man can’t have everything he desires all at once, it seems._

_And speaking of desires, I greatly look forward to reading the lesson plans you have composed. I always find your instruction very enlightening. I do, however, hope that we will be continuing our focus on practicum rather than theory. You know I always believe a student learns better by doing._

_I remain, as always, your most eager student._

_Until tomorrow,_

_Draco_

 

He sent the letter off with Demeter, feeling considerably better than he had since arriving at his parents’ French estate. He found he had enough energy to do some more marking of his fourth years’ end-of-term exams.

“Tilly!” he called, and a house elf appeared.

“Young Master called?”

Draco rolled his eyes at the idea of being called “young master” but didn’t comment, instead asking the elf to fetch the self-correcting quill his mother had just given him for Christmas.

“And inform both of my parents that I have quite a lot of marking to do and it will take all of the afternoon. I will be available again when dinner is served.”

It was perfect. Now he had an excuse to not have to spend more time in their company than necessary, something he thought they all might appreciate right now.

He did mark exams for a while, and when he grew tired of that he read by the fire. Once he grew tired of that he simply stared off into the fire and thought about Harry and what fun, “stimulating” lessons the man would have in store for him when he returned to Grimmauld. He was quite looking forward to it. It would be much, much better than being here.

Tilly fetched him for dinner just as the sun was starting to set behind the mountains that he could see from his bedroom windows.

“Very good, Tilly,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”

On his way he passed his desk, where the little blue bottle of Bully’s Demise sat innocently on top of Harry’s folded letter. He picked it up and looked at it.

If only it were that easy. If only sneaking a few drops of this into his father’s wine and listening as he loudly and embarrassingly passed gas all night would actually be enough to shut him up once and for all.

Yes, it would be childish, Draco knew. But oh, so satisfying.

He left the bottle on the desk with a sigh and made his way toward the dining room. Narcissa and Lucius were already seated across from each other, leaving Draco to take a seat at the head of the table, between them.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Lucius said as Draco made himself comfortable. “I didn’t realize marking would take you so long.”

“I teach seven years of Potions,” Draco said, aware that his tone was defensive. “And I gave all of my students exams at the end of the term, and I have to mark each and every one of them myself. It’s a lot of work.”

“I just thought,” Lucius said lightly, sipping on his wine, “when you made the choice to _become_ a teacher you would have made sure you had the talent to be more efficient at it.”

Draco watched as his father drank more wine, imagining that he was drinking it laced with the potion. How long did it take the Bully’s Demise to start working, he wondered. Would he start breaking wind with the next insult, or would it take a while? He smiled to himself at the thought.

“Actually,” he said, turning to his mother, “now that I have that quill you gave me, I think I _will_ be more efficient. I was using it just now and it worked beautifully.”

“I’m so glad,” Narcissa said, her hand lightly brushing over his. “I’d love to hear about some of your students. Do you have any favorites?”

“I do,” Draco said cheerfully, ignoring the way his father scowled behind his wine. “My NEWT students are fantastic, and I even have a 4th year who I’ve sort of taken under my wing. She’s really gifted; has the best intuition for Potions I’ve ever seen for someone her age.”

“The best you’ve ever seen, with _all_ those years of teaching you’ve done,” Lucius said drily.

Draco breathed through the annoyance and imagined this dig being followed by an obvious _toot_ of flatulence, which made him feel better. He actually had to suppress a laugh as he turned back to his mother. “Her name is Raisie McNeal. I’m told by other professors that she’s a strong student overall, but I think I can convince her to pursue a Potions mastery when she graduates. She seems very interested.”

“McNeal… I don’t recognize the name,” Lucius said, sounding suddenly suspicious. “Is she a half-blood?”

“Lucius,” Draco heard his mother say under her breath, almost inaudible.

“Muggleborn,” Draco said, smiling blandly at his father. “And a Gryffindor as well.”

He didn’t back down from his father’s icy stare. “I see. And I thought you couldn’t sink any lower.”

“She’s gifted,” Draco said lightly, pretending he didn’t understand his father’s disapproval. “Reminds me a bit of Hermione Granger, to tell you the truth. Though Miss McNeal doesn’t get in nearly as much trouble as Granger did. Of course, there’s also not a war on and secret Death Eater plots to thwart.”

The table was pervaded by silence, and Draco took a moment to savor it. He didn’t know why he was enjoying himself so much all of a sudden, but he rather was. Perhaps it was that every time his father said something awful he knew he could think of the Bully’s Demise and entertain himself instead of getting insulted. Or perhaps it was the thought of the Gryffindor he had waiting eagerly for him back at Grimmauld Place. Or maybe it was the fact that his parents really didn’t have any say in his life anymore. Draco was already lord of the Malfoy estate; it had passed to him when he married Astoria. They couldn’t disinherit him, and they couldn’t force him to get remarried to someone of their choosing. They couldn’t tell him where to go and what to do.

 _I’m free_ , he thought. _I’m completely free and I never knew it until now._

***

By the time Draco was scheduled to leave the next afternoon, the elder Malfoys seemed well ready for him to go. Draco was all right with that. He certainly didn’t want to make his parents’ lives more difficult, but neither was he willing to sit around and be insulted or made to feel guilty anymore. The fact that he was no longer tolerating his father’s jibes, and was actually laughing at them instead meant that neither Lucius nor Narcissa really seemed to know what to make of him. It was as though they didn’t recognize him, and perhaps they didn’t.

He left with little more than a polite nod to his father and a kiss to his mother’s cheek. He promised to write her, at least, and keep her apprised of the goings-on at Hogwarts. She looked at him with sad eyes, and perhaps there was some disappointment in them as well. If there was, Draco could not feel remorse for it, not when he wasn’t really sorry.

There were a number of packages waiting for him when he arrived back at his estate, and the elves were eager to show him. He had gifts from Pansy, Theo, and Gideon, Greg Goyle, and just about every member of the Hogwarts staff. He opened them, delighted as he saw that he had received some of his favorite treats, including some bottles of Ogden’s, elven wine, and a box of fine Swiss chocolates. Apparently his friends and colleagues knew him well. Francesca had sent him wine as well, but it was a Chianti from her father’s estate, a 2003 vintage, just as she had promised. She’d included a very friendly note with it, hoping he had a lovely holiday and encouraging him to not let his parents ruin it for him. Draco smiled wistfully as he read it. She was proving herself to be a kind and thoughtful friend. He wished he wanted to sleep with her.

 _Oh well_ , he thought. _She will make some other man very happy, I’m sure._ He just wasn’t going to be that man. He unpacked and repacked his trunk with fresh clothes, and included some of the wine, including Francesca’s bottle, to share with Harry. Then he bid his elves goodbye and flooed to Grimmauld Place with a light heart.

He was going to see Harry again.

The house was quiet when he arrived; Harry was not in the sitting room waiting for him as he had been the first time. He swallowed disappointment at that (the man wasn’t _required_ to sit around waiting for him like an eager crup, of course) and decided to go searching.

“Harry?” he called as he passed through the kitchen. No answer. He made his way to the front of the house and stopped at the bottom of the staircase. “Harry?” Perhaps he was upstairs, Draco thought, and couldn’t hear him.

He called once more in the second floor hallway and received a reply from the direction of the dreaded study.

 _Ah,_ he realized. Harry was cleaning.

He entered the room through the open door and saw Harry standing before a large cabinet with glass doors, his hands on his hips as he appeared to be contemplating the object. Funnily enough, Kreacher stood next to him in the exact same posture, as though deliberately imitating him, and Draco chuckled at the sight.

Harry turned and smiled at him.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” Draco approached, and Harry leaned in to kiss him in greeting. “What are you doing, exactly?” he asked when their lips parted.

“Contemplating the cabinet,” said Harry.

“Yes, I could see that much. But why?”

“Because there are some quite nasty things in there, and we’re trying to figure out how to get rid of them without also doing damage to the heirlooms within.”

“Master should be letting Kreacher draw them out,” the elf said. “And when they is attacking Kreacher, Master is taking the treasures and protecting them.”

“That’s not going to happen, Kreacher,” Harry said, with a patience in his tone that made it clear that they’d already had this argument many times. “I am not risking your life for the sake of a few trinkets.”

The elf shook his wrinkled little head as if this sentiment was absurd to him, which it likely was.

“Can I help?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. “I’m not risking your life either.”

“I hardly think whatever is in there will kill me. I’m quite a good wizard, you know.”

“And Kreacher is being a good elf,” the elf chimed in.

“I know,” Harry said with a smile to each of them. “But it’s not worth the risk, not to me. We don’t even know what’s in there. Let me run some more diagnostics first, then I’ll tackle it when I have the time.”

“On your own?” Draco asked, arching a brow. “I don’t think so.”

“Let’s worry about it later,” Harry said placatingly.

Draco and Kreacher exchanged a look, but didn’t argue. Instead they followed Harry out of the study. When they were in the hall Harry paused, letting Kreacher pass them and then grabbing Draco around the waist and pulling him close.

“Time for a proper greeting,” he murmured. His hands slipped into the back pockets of Draco’s trousers as his mouth captured Draco’s in a deep kiss.

Draco hummed happily. This was exactly what he had been craving while he was away. He let his hands roam, feeling the solid muscles of Harry’s back and shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Harry said as his mouth ventured across Draco’s jaw towards that sensitive spot right under his ear.

“Mm, me too,” said Draco, biting back a groan as Harry nipped at his skin, sending jolts of lust through him. _I get two more weeks of this._ That realization felt like its own gift.

Harry returned his lips to Draco’s for a few more languid kisses before pulling away just enough to see Draco’s whole face. “How did everything go, in the end? With your parents?”

Draco gave him a wry smirk. “It… went.”

“That bad, hm?”

“Actually… well… no, it wasn’t good, but… I’m not upset. I suppose I have you to thank for that, and your little gift.”

Harry laughed. “You didn’t actually use it, did you?”

“Of course not!” said Draco, offended. “But did I think about it? Yes. Yes I did.”

Harry laughed some more and kissed him again. “Come on, I’ll make some dinner. What would you like?”

“Well, I did get some very nice bottles of wine for Christmas. Perhaps we can make something that will go nicely with one of them.” He took Harry to his room and then extracted his trunk and reverted it to its normal size.

“Elven wine?” Harry asked as Draco opened it to look through what he had packed.

“Mostly. And this.” Draco held the bottle of Chianti out to him.

Harry took it, looking at the label briefly before shaking his head. “She really likes you.”

“Maybe,” said Draco, standing upright. “Or she just sent it because she promised. You know, that first night, at the staff social.” He watched Harry’s expression turn incredulous and then smiled. “Yes, all right. She fancies me quite a lot.”

“Makes me feel a bit guilty,” Harry admitted. “I knew she fancied you, and I slept with you anyway. She’s my friend and I don’t usually… go after people my friends fancy.”

Draco eyed him. “Do you regret it?”

Harry’s expression turned, if possible, even more sheepish. “Not for a moment.”

“Good. Because Francesca and I… it was never going to happen. And you and I… were… inevitable. So there’s no need to feel guilty.”

Harry stared at him, his eyes warm but the rest of him very difficult to read. After a moment he held up the bottle of wine. “This calls for Italian, then, don’t you think? I’m sure I have the ingredients for spaghetti Bolognese. It’s one of my favorites, and this wine will pair perfectly.”

Draco smiled. “That sounds lovely.”

Once in the kitchen Harry put on a record of someone called Dean Martin.

“I always play his music when I cook Italian,” Harry explained as Draco listened to the big, jazzy sounds of the band and Martin’s sultry voice. “It puts me in the right mood.” He opened the Chianti and poured them each half a glass to taste.

“Wow,” Draco said after he took his first sip of the ruby liquid. “That is delicious.” He was not very familiar with Italian wines, but after tasting this he was ready to learn a bit more. In fact, there were a number of things he wanted to learn from Harry. The list just kept growing.

“You can sit and relax, if you like,” Harry told him.

“Actually, I’d rather like to learn how to make spaghetti Bolognese, if you don’t mind showing me.”

Harry grinned widely. “Of course. This is actually the perfect dish to learn, if you’re a beginner.”

“Well, consider me a complete novice. Assume I know nothing.”

Harry kissed him. “I could never assume that. But I’ll talk you through it. First, we need onions and garlic.”

Soon he had Draco chopping veg, sautéing garlic, and spicing meat. All the while they sipped on their wine and listened to Martin serenade them over the phonograph. Harry sang along a bit, as usual, and moved to the music, and Draco just watched and laughed openly at him, which, of course, didn’t deter Harry a bit.

“That’s a job well done,” Harry said, tasting the sauce for the last time and declaring it perfectly seasoned. “We make a good team.”

“Let’s be honest; you did most of it,” said Draco. “But if you want to give me credit, I’ll take it.”

They sat down to dinner, large plates of spaghetti and little bowls of salads in front of them. They clinked their full glasses of wine and then dug in.

“This is my comfort food,” said Harry between rich bites of pasta. “The best thing for a cold winter night like this one.”

“Did you eat spaghetti as a child?” Draco asked him. He understood it was something Muggles ate regularly, and given that Harry was raised by Muggles, it was easy to imagine little Harry eating spaghetti with the same relish he was doing now.

“Every now and then,” Harry answered. He took a sip of wine. “So, what else did you get for Christmas?”

They compared gifts, and Harry told Draco about his time at the Burrow with the Weasleys. The family had grown considerably since their Hogwarts days, and now there were multiple grandchildren running around and filling the house with noise, Harry said.

“Sounds nice,” Draco said.

“It is, for about…” His head swayed, considering, “…four hours or so. Then it starts to wear on me. I like people, and I like children, but I need my space too, you know?”

“Sure.”

“I enjoyed it more back when we were at Hogwarts, the chaos of the Weasleys. Now I like smaller celebrations. Ron, Hermione, and I usually slip out after the early supper, grab a drink together. Though, this time, Hermione was just sipping pumpkin juice, given that she’s expecting in May.”

“Granger’s pregnant.”

“Yep,” said Harry. "I’m going to be a godfather. Well… I’m already a godfather, obviously, with Teddy and all. But I’m going to be one again.”

“That’s great news.” He waited for the bitter taste in his mouth, the churning of jealousy in his gut, but it didn’t come. Weasley was going to be a father, he and Granger were happy together, and they both got to be best friends with Harry Potter. He would have expected himself to be jealous, but he wasn’t.

_Maybe things really are getting better for me._

“It is. I’m really happy for them. But it will change things between us,” Harry said. “I’m… mentally preparing myself for that.”

“Some things will change, yes. But they’ll never stop caring about you,” said Draco.

“I know that.”

“Things got a bit strange with Pansy and me, when she had her son, especially after… you know… Astoria…”

“Yeah.”

“But, in the end, it doesn’t matter that we’re in different places in our lives. She’s too important to me to let our friendship slip away, you know?”

Harry took another sip of wine and thought that over. “Of course,” he said. “That’s true.”

Draco moved on to his salad, enjoying the garlicky, vinegary dressing that Harry had whipped up for them. “Besides, holidays and birthdays with a pregnant woman are fun. I’m sure Granger got all sorts of clothes and toys and other things for the baby.”

“Some. Although she hadn’t announced it to the whole family yet, only some people. She’ll be getting more when they have their shower in March.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“But Molly and Arthur did give her and Ron some things. Wee socks and a couple of hats that Molly knitted. And the tiniest little jumper you’ve ever seen.”

Draco smiled wistfully and ate his salad.

“Draco?” 

“Hm?”

“Are you sure your holiday was all right?”

Draco looked at him. “My father is a bastard. So, given that, it was fine.”

“Has he… always been that way?”

Draco arched a brow. “You know him. You already know he has.” Harry didn’t say anything, and Draco sighed. “I don’t know if it’s that he’s gotten worse, or if I’ve just gotten… sensitive. But he’s really bitter, contemptuous even. He hates that I got divorced. I mean, he just… _hates_ it. He’s angry at me for going through with it. He’s angry that the son wasn’t mine, as if that was my fault.” He looked down into his nearly empty salad bowl. “For a while I thought it was my fault too, you know. I kept going over in my head what I could have done to keep her faithful to me, what must I have done to drive her to another man’s arms. But the more I think about it… the more I remember… You know, I really think I was a good husband. I wasn’t perfect, and the marriage was awkward at first, because it was arranged. But I did grow to love her, and I told her so all the time, and I treated her like a bloody princess. And she still went and fucked my best friend and didn’t even have the common decency to use effective protection. So I don’t know what my father is so bloody angry at me for. I’m trying not to let it upset me, and it’s getting a lot easier. But it still… frustrates me, I suppose.”

Harry was silent for a while and Draco swirled his wine around in the glass, wondering if his little rant had ruined the mood. But then Harry spoke.

“Do you think a part of him is angry at himself? Do you think maybe he feels guilty?”

Draco glanced up to find the brunet looking contemplative. “For what?”

“Isn’t he the reason you married Astoria in the first place?”

“Yes. He and my mother, and the Greengrasses.”

“So, in a sense, he’s as responsible for your failed marriage as you are.”

“He may have arranged it, but it was my duty as a Malfoy to keep her-“

“And it was his duty as a Malfoy to make sure the wife he selected for his son was a good and honorable one, right?”

Draco stared at him.

“I mean, let me know if I have it wrong, since I know nothing about pureblood traditions and arranged marriages. But it seems to me that if he was so invested in picking your spouse for you and in you having what you needed to keep your marriage intact and healthy, then _he_ should have put in a little more effort. Sounds to me like you did everything he wanted. You did everything right. So _he_ was the one who failed _you_.”

“It’s not his fault. There was no indication that Astoria would betray me like this. It was no one’s fault but hers.”

Harry smiled at him. “So you don’t blame your father?”

“No, I don’t,” he said honestly. “I just wish he would stop being so angry. I wish he would choose to be happy again.” Lucius _had_ been happy, once. When Draco was married and had a son on the way, Lucius Malfoy was happy.

“I think, when he’s forgiven himself for what he thinks he’s done, he will,” said Harry.

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. Was Harry right? Was Lucius angry at _himself_ and just taking it out on his wife and son? He wasn’t sure. The man had always been an enigma to Draco.

“Can I ask you something?” Harry broke the silence.

“Sure.”

“You talk a lot about Astoria and what she did. Not _too_ much, I’m not saying that. I just mean that when you do bring up your divorce she’s the one you talk about. She’s the one you blame. But you hardly ever talk about Zabini.”

Draco stared at him. “That’s true.”

“I just wondered why. I mean, he was as responsible as she was. He knew she was your wife. He betrayed you too.”

“I don’t…” Draco really thought about it for a moment. “I don’t like to think about him if I can help it.”

Harry nodded soberly. “Yeah.” He finished his wine. “Yeah. Betrayal by a lover, a spouse, would be bad enough. But a best mate… they’re the ones who are supposed to be there when things fall through. He was the one who was supposed to be there for you when your marriage ended, not be the cause of it.”

“Yeah,” said Draco, swallowing. “That’s about the size of it.”

Harry huffed a laugh suddenly. “I’m sorry. I’ve put us in quite a mood, haven’t I?”

“It’s all right,” said Draco. “The holidays have a way of making us melancholy, I think.”

“Too true. But let’s talk about something else. Something better.”

“Like what?”

“Like the lesson I have planned for us tonight,” Harry said, a familiar grin splitting his face.

Draco licked his lips and tried to look demure, mostly because he knew how much Harry liked it. “And what would that be, then, Professor?”

Harry watched Draco’s mouth as he took his last sip of wine. “How much experience do you have with simultaneous oral reciprocation?”

***

“I’ve got you in six.”

Harry glanced up from the chess board to give Draco a skeptical glare. “Why do experienced chess players always say things like that, about how many moves are left in the game?”

“Because that’s how many moves there are left. For me, anyway.”

“How do you know that? You can’t possibly know that. I think you’re just saying it to sound smart.”

Draco snorted. “I’m not. I can see what you’re going to do next, and I know what move I’ll make after that, and I know how you’ll react…”

“You can’t know. Not really. Not until it’s happened.”

“I know the most logical course of action for you to take. So I’m making an educated guess,” Draco explained.

“Ah,” said Harry holding up a finger. “And therein lies the rub. What if I don’t take the most logical course of action? What if I make a move you don’t expect?”

“You mean what if you do something entirely _il_ logical?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Draco thought about that. “Like if you moved your queen’s castle across the board to sit in front of my pawn and get taken, or something?”

“Right. Like that. You wouldn’t be expecting it.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Because that move would be very stupid. I would just take your castle, meaning that you would lose faster.”

Harry crossed his arms. “Hmph.” He directed his knight to attack Draco’s last remaining bishop, which, of course, Draco saw coming. He moved his castle into position to take Harry’s queen two moves from now, then waited for Harry to take his turn. “I’m just not sure I see the point in playing,” Harry said, his eyes skimming the board, “if you can predict every move I’m going to make and then counteract that move. I’ll never win, because I’m not as good at predicting those things as you are.”

“I thought losing didn’t bother you.”

“It doesn’t,” Harry said calmly. “But it still makes me wonder what the point of it is.”

“Then why do you keep offering to play with me?” They’d played chess once almost every day that Draco had been staying at Grimmauld so far. And now he had been there for nearly two weeks, all told.

Harry looked up, giving him a lopsided smile. “Because I like watching you while you play.”

Draco felt his face flush and rolled his eyes. “Are you going to move or not?”

Harry winked at him. “Knight to D7.”

Draco then took Harry’s queen’s side castle, and Harry huffed. “Great. You’re after my queen.”

Draco chuckled. “Aren’t I always?”

“Queen to…” Harry trailed off, looking around the board. “Bugger,” he said. “I can’t move her. You’ve backed me into a trap.”

“Yes, I know,” Draco said smugly, while Harry’s queen yelled at him that she’d been trying to warn him of this all along, and how he never listened.

It was true that Harry never listened to his chess pieces. He claimed he found them too distracting, as they were always yelling at him and trying to save their own skins. Draco didn’t have the same problem; his pieces trusted him implicitly, probably because he always won.

“I always figured you’d see the value in chess,” Draco commented, “given that you had to fight and win a war. And I imagine dueling and other aspects of being an Auror also involve strategizing. You know, moves and countermoves.”

“Maybe for some,” said Harry, finally moving his queen, though he knew it was futile. Draco took her with his pawn. “But I always just operate on instinct. I react to what’s in front of me.”

“And that works for you?”

“Most of the time. I _did_ win a war, didn’t I?”

Draco conceded the point silently.

“In my experience, human behavior is not like chess at all. People do things you never expect all the time. You can’t always assume you know what will happen next. You have to stay on your toes.”

“I can see how that would be true,” Draco replied. “But you can make educated guesses a lot of the time, can’t you?” He moved his castle. “Check.”

Harry sighed and moved his king. “Sometimes. But you can’t rest on the certainty that your guesses are correct. Because you always get that one insane wizard who, when cornered, tries to curse your nose off instead of doing something more practical, more rational, to try and escape.”

Draco looked at Harry, confused. “That's awfully specific. That happened to you, when you were an Auror?”

“Yes. It was a dark wizard who’d been placing curses on books and then hiding them in libraries, just to watch people suffer. He was a bastard, but he was hardly stupid. When we cornered him, I expected him to try and blast his way through, take out as many Aurors as he could, or Apparate, or _something_. But he didn’t. He just tried to curse my nose off, I guess because I was closest. Luckily I put up a shield in time, and the other Aurors took him while he was distracted. Then they hauled him back to the Ministry. I was so confused at the time, about why he decided to use _that_ curse, which he had to know wouldn’t actually let him escape. So later, during an interrogation, I asked him about it. And do you know what he told me?”

“What?” Draco asked, after directing his knight where it needed to go.

“He told me it was the only thing he could think of, in the heat of the moment. Surrounded by six Aurors, with very little hope of escape, with all the evidence in the world against him… he panicked, and couldn’t think of anything except the curse to blast someone’s nose off. So he tried to blast my nose off. It didn’t make any _sense_ ; it was completely random… but it’s what he thought of.”

“Hm,” said Draco. “That is quite illogical.”

“Yes. Because the world isn’t some giant chess board. People don’t all follow the same rules, or think in the same way, or even think at _all_ , some of the time. And that’s not even accounting for all the crazy things that just happen for no reason.” He moved, exactly where Draco assumed he would. Draco’s mouth was just opening to command his knight when Harry spoke again. “It’s how I defeated Voldemort, you know. By doing things he never expected.”

Draco closed his mouth and swallowed. “Yeah?”

Harry nodded. “By befriending house elves, and sparing the lives of his allies so they owed me life debts, and using the disarming charm on him instead of trying to kill him outright,” He paused, his gaze flicking to Draco briefly. “By sacrificing myself.”

Draco closed his eyes, remembering that moment, the moment the Dark Lord announced that Harry Potter was dead, the moment all hope was lost.

“Things he would never do, that he would never even _think_ to do,” Harry went on. He met Draco’s eyes. “I’m not saying I did it alone, and I’m not saying that a lot of it wasn’t because of the plan Dumbledore put in motion from the time I was a child, but I did do it, in the end. And it wasn’t because everything went according to plan, because a lot of it didn’t. It was because I didn’t follow his rules. That’s how I beat him.”

Draco stared at him, taking that in, and Harry looked back at him, waiting for him to respond, or perhaps just waiting for the final blow that would mean the end of the game. Draco’s gaze returned to the board. “Knight to E2,” he said. “Checkmate.”

“I suppose that’s why I’ve never got very good at chess,” Harry said with a sigh, watching as his king removed his crown and bowed in defeat. “I don’t work well within a strict set of rules.”

“So you work better in the real world,” Draco said with a shrug. “That’s hardly a bad thing.”

Harry gave him a small smile. “True.”

A pleasant chime suddenly rang out, and Harry’s head snapped up and turned towards the sound.

“Is that the floo?” Draco asked him.

“No,” said Harry, his brow furrowed. “It’s the doorbell.”

“Oh. Are we expecting company?”

Harry shook his head. “Of course not. I mean, you’re here, and I know you don’t want anyone to see you. Besides which, pretty much anyone I know who would come for a visit would use the floo.”

“Who would use the front door?”

Harry blinked slowly, thinking. “Someone who has permission to come through my wards, but who doesn’t have the means to use the floo,” he said finally, a grave realization in his voice.

“You know who it is.”

“Yes,” Harry said, his eyes closing. “I think I do.” He stood and left the sitting room, making his way down the hallway towards the door. Draco wavered for a moment, not sure what to do. He was curious at what sort of person would elicit this reaction from Harry, but nervous about being seen by someone they knew. The curiosity won out when he decided that even if it was a witch or wizard who would recognize him, he could play off his presence at Grimmauld as a visit among friends, rather than lovers.

But the man at the door was not someone Draco immediately recognized. He was tall and hulking, with straw blond hair and wary blue eyes. He was staring at Harry with an expression that spoke of a long and complicated relationship.

 _An old lover, perhaps?_ Draco wondered. When Draco glanced at Harry, though, he didn’t think that was it. The brunet’s expression was one of tolerance and resignation.

“Dudley,” Harry greeted the man.

“Hullo, Harry,” the man, Dudley, replied.

“It’s been a while. What brings you here?”

The man looked at Harry a moment. “Maybe I should have called first. But I… need to talk to you about something. It’s not something that can wait.”

Harry sighed. “It’s all right. You can, um… yeah. Come on in.”

The blond man nodded and stepped into the house, looking around cautiously, like something was going to jump out at him any second. He spotted Draco and gave him a surprised raise of the eyebrows, then nodded politely. Draco returned the nod.

“Dudley,” Harry said after he’d closed the front door. “This is a friend of mine, Draco Malfoy. He’s been visiting over the holidays. Draco, this is my cousin, Dudley Dursley.”

 _His cousin_. That made sense of some things. Not a lover or a friend, but someone close enough to Harry to have permission to pass through the wards. And a Muggle, meaning he didn’t use the floo.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Draco said.

“Yeah, you too,” the man grunted. He looked at Harry, leaning and saying, in a sort of faux whisper, “Is he, you know, a friend, or a… _friend_?”

Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “You mean a friend who I sleep with?” He looked at Draco, who was too surprised to react, at first. Then he shrugged at Harry, unsure. It was unlikely this Muggle cousin would go spreading rumors. He would trust Harry’s judgment. “Yeah, he’s a friend I sleep with,” said Harry, turning back to his cousin. “Is that a problem?” There was a sudden challenge in his voice, but the cousin didn’t react defensively, only dispassionately.

“No,” he said. “It’s not a problem.”

“Good,” Harry said curtly, turning. “I’ll get us some tea, then.”

Dudley Dursley exchanged a look with Draco, then followed Harry down the hall towards the kitchen.

“Kreacher!” Draco heard Harry call. “Make us some tea, would you?” Though it was worded like a request, the tone itself had an edge of command that Draco had never heard Harry use with the elf before. He reemerged from the kitchen and looked from Draco to Dursley, his face a mask of blankness. “My house elf is making tea. We can have it in the sitting room.” He gestured for them to follow him.

A strange tingle ran up Draco’s spine as he walked behind the two men, as Harry settled Dursley in an armchair and then invited Draco to join him on the sofa. It was as though Draco had stepped sideways and somehow fallen into a pensieve memory, or something like it. The air was thick with a history Draco had no part in. He’d never felt more like a visitor since entering Grimmauld than in this moment, someone intruding, but unobtrusively, on the scene, a witness rather than a participant. He remained quiet as Harry made small talk with Dursley.

“How’s Allison?”

“Really good. Excited.”

“About the wedding?”

“Yeah,” Dursley grunted. “Which reminds me.” He reached around to where he had draped his coat on the back of the armchair, pulling an envelope out of one of the pockets. He held it out to Harry. “We’ve moved up the date of the wedding. It’s to be in June now.”

“June? That soon?” Harry said, taking the envelope and opening it. He glanced briefly at the card inside before sliding it back in.

Dursley nodded. “That’s the new Save the Date card. Mum thought I ought to hand-deliver it, as she never trusts the postman to be able to deliver here.”

“My postbox functions like anyone else’s,” Harry told his cousin, sounding half amused, half exasperated. “I can receive Muggle – you know, normal – post.”

“I’ve tried to explain that to her already. But you know how she is.” The man smirked, but in a strangely apologetic way, and Draco saw Harry’s shoulders relax a little.

“Yes, I do know.”

Kreacher came in then, floating a tray of tea and biscuits onto the low table in front of them. Dursley watched the elf warily, seeming not unfamiliar with him, but hardly comfortable either.

“Shall Kreacher be serving his master and Mr. Malfoy and the Muggle their tea?” the elf asked Harry, but Harry quickly waved a hand.

“That’s not necessary, Kreacher, thank you,” he said, his tone nearly back to the normal, kind one he always used with the elf. “We’ll serve ourselves.”

Kreacher didn’t argue, but instead shot a scathing glance at Dursley before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he went.

Harry poured everyone some tea. “Milk and sugar?” he offered his cousin.

“Yeah, thanks,” Dursley replied before doctoring his tea accordingly.

Harry turned to Draco, but before Harry could ask Draco told him, “I’m going to have mine black today, thanks.”

Harry smiled softly, then reached out and gave Draco’s knee a gentle squeeze. The gesture spoke volumes, Draco thought, including that Harry was still glad Draco was here with him, though the circumstances had become rather strange.

“So, is this why you came by?” Harry asked Dursley, holding up the envelope. “To deliver this?”

“No,” said Dursley. “There’s something else.”

“All right.”

Dursley cast Draco a furtive glance but didn’t comment on his presence, returning his gaze to Harry. “It’s Dad. He’s ill.”

Harry sat back against the sofa, taking that in. “It’s serious?”

“Very. It’s cancer… hepatic, they call it, which means it’s in his liver. Or, that’s where it originated. It’s actually…” Dursley set his tea down. “It’s all very widespread, at this point. And treatment isn’t really working.”

“They’ve been doing chemotherapy?” Harry asked, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.

“They did that first; surgery wasn’t an option, because it had already spread. And chemo didn’t work so they tried something else. I can’t remember it all.”

“Radiation, maybe.”

“Immuno-something. I don’t know.”

Draco, though he didn’t follow much of what they were saying, understood enough to know that something was quite wrong with Harry’s uncle. Draco could only assume, given that he hadn’t heard of any other Muggle relatives of the Gryffindor, that it was the uncle who had raised him, and the blond man sitting here now was the cousin Harry had grown up with.

“I’m sorry, Dudley,” Harry said, closing his eyes. “This is why you’re moving the wedding up, I assume?”

Dursley nodded. “They’re trying everything they can, but the outlook isn’t good. Six to eight months, they think, unless something really turns around for him with the treatment. So we’re…” He paused, fidgeting with his hands. “We decided we’d rather have a smaller, simpler ceremony with him there than have him… miss it.”

“That’s understandable,” said Harry. “How’s your mum?”

“Not good. I mean, she’s… coping. But it’s been hard.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice wasn’t flat anymore, but Draco couldn’t make out exactly what it _was_. There was too much buried in there for him to distinguish. It would make sense for Harry to be upset; this was his surrogate father they were talking about. Then again, Harry hadn’t even known the man was ill before now, and it sounded like he had been ill for a while. Draco didn’t really know what to make of it, or what his role should be here. So he decided to just follow his instincts, reaching out and placing a hand lightly on Harry’s knee. Harry put a hand over his and held him there. Dursley’s eyes flicked towards the movement, his gaze impassive as he stared at their joined hands, before he looked into Harry’s face again.

“I have something to ask of you.”

Harry went very still. “All right…”

“I’d like for you to…” He cleared his throat. “ _We’d_ like for you to come see him. You know, talk to him.”

Harry’s hand tightened on Draco’s. “Who’s ‘we?’”

Dursley stared at his cousin, a vein in his large jaw twitching.

“You know why I’m asking, right?” Harry continued, when Dursley didn’t say anything. “Because if he doesn’t want me there-“

“He doesn’t know what he wants,” Dursley cut him off.

“Oh, I think he’s always been pretty clear about it,” Harry replied, and though his tone was mild there was something in it, barely discernable, that made Draco rub his thumb across Harry’s knee as his hand rested there, offering comfort.

Dursley sighed and took a sip of his tea, putting the mug down forcefully enough that it rattled. Harry didn’t flinch, only watched him.

“If you don’t come now, if you don’t talk to him now, then there probably won’t be another chance. This is it.”

Harry took a while to answer, fingering the handle of his mug, taking a sip of tea, and fingering the handle some more, before finally speaking. “I understand. But I don’t see it as up to me. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, then-“

“If you came, what choice would he have?”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “You know full well that Vernon Dursley will do whatever damn well pleases Vernon Dursley, and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.”

“Harry-“

“He won’t apologize,” Harry said, his voice rising enough to cut the other man off. “He has no interest in apologizing. He has no interest in making amends. That’s what _you_ want-“

“I thought you did too,” Dursley replied, his eyes blazing at Harry.

“I told you I was open to it,” the brunet said. “But there’s no point if he won’t.... If he can’t apologize, if he can’t even admit-“ Harry stopped himself, swallowing, gripping Draco’s hand hard. “There’s no point, Dudley.”

“I think if you came and he _saw_ you he would change his mind,” the blond man insisted.

“Fucking hell,” Harry said, rubbing a hand through his hair enough that they looked like the unruly locks of yesteryear. “ _Why_ do you want this? Why do you want this for him when he doesn’t even want it himself?”

Dursley looked at his cousin for a long moment, his eyes softening into sadness. “You know why,” he said quietly.

Harry rested his forehead against his hand, staring at the floor. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Draco glanced past Harry and saw that Dursley was looking at him, trying to communicate something with his eyes. Draco thought he understood. This was family business, and Harry and Dursley had things to say to each other that they likely didn’t want Draco to be privy to.

“Harry,” Draco said softly, squeezing his knee. “Maybe I should…”

Harry looked at him and blinked. “Draco,” he said, sighing. “I’m sorry. Yeah, um… could you give us a few minutes?”

“It’s fine. I’ll be in the front parlor if you need me.” He made to stand, but Harry held onto him, keeping him there.

To his surprise, Harry gripped his neck and planted a firm kiss on his mouth. “Thank you,” he said quietly when he pulled away.

“Of course,” Draco said, feeling odd and a bit out of his body. Still, he managed to stand and walk towards the door. He spared a glance for Dursley, whose own surprise was still evident on his face, but who nodded to him in thanks anyway.

So, Draco thought as he made his way to the front of the house, the cousin at least had accepted Harry’s sexuality. The uncle, it seemed, hadn’t, or that was Draco’s best guess. Harry and this Vernon Dursley had obviously had some sort of falling out over it that the Dursley son wanted them to overcome. He could see why it was a fraught situation and why Harry was upset over it. Draco just hoped, when this was over and Dursley had left, that Harry would give Draco some clue as to how to help him. This was entirely new territory for him.

He settled himself on a loveseat in the front parlor and summoned a book from his room. It was hard to stay focused on his reading, though, as his ears kept straining to hear when the two men would be done with their conversation. He thought he heard raised voices a couple of times, but didn’t get up to investigate. Harry could handle himself just fine, and it wasn’t Draco’s business, not really.

Only… well, he _was_ sleeping with Harry. He was staying at his house and spending a great deal of time with him. That didn’t make them boyfriends but it did make them lovers, and… friends. And friends helped each other through things like this, didn’t they?

 _Especially since I myself know plenty about feeling rejected by a father figure._ Harry was so self-possessed and confident that Draco never would have guessed he’d ever faced that kind of rejection. Apparently Draco had more in common with Harry than he realized.

“Would Mr. Draco Malfoy be liking more tea?”

Draco was pulled from his thoughts by Kreacher’s question. He looked up to see the elf standing in the doorway.

“No, thank you, Kreacher, I’m fine.”

“Mr. Malfoy left his cup of tea with Master and the Muggle,” Kreacher said. “He is to be needing more.”

“I really didn’t need it at all, to tell you the truth,” Draco said. “I was just drinking it because Harry was serving it.”

The elf stood there and blinked at him slowly.

“Does he come around often?” Draco asked him. “Dursley, I mean.”

“Sometimes the Muggle is visiting in the summer,” the elf replied. “Sometimes he is bringing his Muggle mother as well.”

Harry’s aunt, then. “But Harry’s uncle never comes, obviously.”

The elf shook his head violently. “He is being the worst of all Muggles. They is _all_ being nasty Muggles, but he is being the worst. When they is talking of the Muggle uncle on their visits it is always making Master upset. When they is visiting Master is always being a little upset. He is not being himself.”

“Hm.” There was obviously more to this than Draco understood at the moment. He wished he knew more, at least enough to be able to help Harry.

There were sounds of heavy footsteps in the hall, and Draco put down his book and stood. Dursley appeared then, making for the front door, but he stopped when he saw Draco. They stood there a moment.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Draco said, because well, even though he didn’t really know this man, that was the sort of thing you were supposed to say.

“Thank you,” Dursley said. He lingered, fiddling with his black wool coat. “How well do you know Harry? How long have you two been together?”

 _We’re not together_ , Draco almost said, before realizing that that would require quite a long explanation, one he hardly owed to Dudley Dursley. “We’ve only been together a few months, but we’ve known each other a long time. Not as long as you’ve known him, obviously. But we went to school together. At Hogwarts. And we teach there together now.”

Dursley nodded. “Right. Well, then maybe you can talk some sense into him. He doesn’t…” He sighed. “We do our best, Harry and I, but stuff like this… He’s not going to do it just because I asked him. He has to have a good reason. He has to have someone who he trusts, who he’ll really listen to.” He looked at Draco, his eyes suddenly pleading. “So maybe you could… you know…”

“That’s not how it works, I’m afraid,” Draco said, straightening his posture. “I’ll be supporting Harry in whatever he wants to do. I won’t be talking him into anything.” He doubted he could convince Harry even if he tried; the man was incredibly obstinate when he wanted to be. But that wasn’t even the point. The point was that even if he could, he _wouldn’t_. He didn’t know what had happened between Harry and his uncle, but it seemed to him that Harry had a good reason for refusing to see him. He trusted Harry to make that call for himself.

“It’s serious between the two of you, then, I suppose,” Dursley said.

Draco was temporarily floored by that assumption, and didn’t reply.

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone like how he looks at you. And you’re here for the holiday. I don’t think he’s ever… well… it just seems that way.”

“It’s new,” Draco said, equivocating.

Dursley snorted. “That doesn’t matter. A lot can happen in a few months. I would know. My fiancée, Allison… I knew I wanted to marry her after three dates.”

Draco sighed internally. He wasn’t about to explain how off the mark Dursley was, how different the situation was in so many ways. “In the end, it doesn’t matter how new or how serious it is between us,” Draco says. “Because Harry… What it comes down to is that Harry is the best person I know. He’s helped me through a lot, saved me in more ways than one. And he deserves someone who will stand by him, who will take care of him as well as he has always taken care of others. That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Dursley took a step forward, leaning in. “Believe it or not, that’s what I’m trying to do too. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but… it _is_ what I’m trying to do. That, and trying to finally get some absolution for my father, after… everything. And I don’t know how else to do it.”

Draco nodded. “I do believe you. But you’re torn between Harry and your father, understandably. And I… I’m just here for Harry.”

Dursley sighed. “Right.” He took a step back, taking some gloves out his pocket and putting them on. “Well, I tried.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s still in the sitting room. I think he… wants you there.”

“All right.”

The man held out a gloved hand. “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again. Perhaps you’ll join Harry at the wedding in June.”

Draco took the hand and shook it once. “It was nice to meet you as well,” he said. “Happy New Year.”

Dursley nodded. “You too.” And he was gone.

Draco did find Harry in the sitting room, standing in front of the windows, staring out into the back garden.

“Harry?”

The brunet didn’t reply. His posture was stiff, his arms crossed over his chest, and when Draco got close enough to see his face, he noticed the hard set of his jaw, the grim line of his mouth, and eyes that were staring at nothing.

What did a person say at a time like this? He had no idea if Harry wanted comfort, or reassurance, or validation for his decision. Did he need someone to listen or did he simply need a distraction? Did he want to be alone? His face and body gave nothing away.

Realizing he had no words to offer, Draco merely reached out, placing a tentative hand on Harry’s back, between his shoulder blades. Harry let out a breath and closed his eyes, and Draco took that as a good sign. He moved closer, behind Harry, wrapping both arms around his waist. When Harry didn’t tense or push him away he moved closer still, until Harry’s back was molded to Draco’s front. Then Draco stood there, holding Harry firmly - but not too tight - and waited.

The brunet let out another deep breath and Draco felt him melt and soften against him. Harry’s arms came to rest on top of Draco’s where they were around his waist, and Draco kissed him gently behind his ear.

Harry hummed, and Draco found himself smiling. No, he didn’t have any words, but he had this to give, and this, he thought, was enough. He rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder and they stood that way for long minutes, both staring out now into the overgrown garden that was dusted with the frost of winter and glinting as thin icicles refracted the afternoon light.

Finally, Harry turned, staying close enough that when they were face to face there were mere inches between them. His face was relaxed now and his eyes a deep, tranquil green.

“What can I do?” Draco asked softly.

Harry kissed him instead of answering. Or perhaps that _was_ his answer. The kiss was slow but consuming, and when Draco opened his mouth to it Harry slipped his tongue inside. Hands roamed down Draco’s back and pulled him closer, and when they cupped his arse and squeezed, Draco understood exactly where Harry wanted to go with this.

Well, he could go with that too. If that was what Harry needed, he would happily provide it.

“Hold onto me,” Harry whispered against his lips, and Draco was about to ask why when Harry suddenly turned them on the spot, and Draco was squeezed through space as they Apparated together.

It took a moment to get oriented, to realize they were in Harry’s bedroom, but once he got his bearings he found Harry’s mouth again, kissing him for all he was worth. He didn’t even miss a beat when his and Harry’s clothes suddenly vanished – Harry’s doing, no doubt – and their warm skin was pressed together.

All right, so Harry was in a hurry. Draco could go with that too.

They tumbled onto the bed, Draco on top, and the blond immediately put his mouth on that beautiful, scarred body, starting with the neck. Harry arched in pleasure as Draco’s mouth descended lower, down the collarbone to one of Harry’s peaked nipples. He wrapped his lips around it, sucking hard, and Harry groaned.

“What do you need, Harry?” Draco asked in a breathy whisper. “Whatever you need, I'll do it.”

Harry didn’t answer right away, so Draco had it in mind to give him some ideas. His mouth traveled down Harry’s abdomen, nipping as he went, making for the always-sensitive skin of Harry’s hips, and the cock that was already hardening and waiting for attention.

But Harry grabbed him around the bicep and pulled, bringing their faces level again. Draco stared at Harry in confusion as the brunet searched his face with darting eyes.

“Fuck me.”

There was a light buzzing in Draco’s ears, suddenly, and he had to blink and shake his head slightly to clear it. “What?”

“You heard me,” Harry said, his mouth twitching. “I want you to fuck me.”

Draco stared down at his lover, his body screaming, _Yes, yes, Merlin, yes!_ while his brain contended with the timing of the request and its implications.

“I know you want to,” Harry said, his voice almost a challenge. “I know you’ve been waiting for this. I _know_ how much you’ve been thinking about it.”

Draco swallowed, not bothering to argue that point. Harry had that mysterious sexual Legilimency, after all. He had to know how much Draco had fantasized about being inside Harry from the moment they’d started this arrangement. “It’s not about what I want right now,” he said.

Harry hooked his ankles around the backs of Draco’s thighs and arched against him. “It’s about what we both want. And you want to fuck me, and I _want_ you to fuck me.”

Well, when he put it like that…

But Draco still shook himself, knowing that if he didn’t get undeniable confirmation that they would both regret it. “Are you sure, Harry? This isn’t some… this is something you already decided you wanted, and not just because of… everything that happened today, right?”

“You mean because my uncle is dying and my cousin wants me to go see the man who was second only to Voldemort in his absolute and complete hatred of me? It’s ok, Draco,” he said, when the blond stared down at him in disbelief. “Let’s call it what it is. Yeah, I’ll admit, I’m a little… mixed up at the moment, but not about this. I’ve been wanting this, thinking about this, for a while. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to do it, how I wanted to approach it, but right now… I’ve decided that I want myself a nice… hard… _pounding._ ” He arched against Draco again, making him gasp. “So, are you going to give it to me?”

Draco stared at him some more, looking for any trace of doubt. But Harry’s eyes were clear and determined, his skin flushed a dusty rose in arousal, and his hard and weeping cock digging imploringly into Draco’s bare hip. And so Draco made his choice.

“You’ll have to help me, you know. I still need… guidance.”

“Of course,” said Harry. “That’s half the fun.”

His face broke into a smile, and Draco grinned back. “Still,” he said. “Let’s see if I can use what I’ve learned first.”

“All right…”

“You need to be prepared. Which means I need lube.”

Harry’s smile widened. “Very good. You know how to do this. You’ve just got to be more… thorough than usual. Stretch me wide.”

Draco conjured the lube and set to work, Harry’s arse familiar territory by now. One finger was quickly replaced by two, and he scissored and pumped, watching Harry’s face all the while. Harry stared up at him and smiled, and when Draco brushed his prostate the first time, he let out a delighted cry, almost like a laugh.

“Three fingers now,” he said. Draco added a third finger, and Harry breathed through it, a soft smile still on his face. “Gods, Draco, I can’t wait to have your cock inside me. It’s been so long since I’ve been properly filled, you know?”

Draco groaned. “That’s what you want, Harry, for me to fill you up? Fill you with my cock?”

“And with your cum,” Harry replied, working himself against Draco’s fingers. “You have no idea how good it feels to be filled with hot cum.”

“Sweet Morgana, Harry,” Draco said, his voice half a warning. “If you keep talking like that while I’m fucking you, I’m not going to last long.”

Harry smirked at him. “I already asked for a nice hard pounding. You’re not going to last long anyway.” Draco laughed breathlessly. “But that’s all right. That’s what I want. If you can manage it, hold out until I come, though. That’s more for you than for me. It’s unbelievable, having an arse clench around you during an orgasm. You’re going to love it.”

“I want to come _when_ you come,” Draco told him. Draco’d always had a thing for simultaneous orgasms, though he hadn’t given it much thought until he’d started sleeping with Harry and really had the chance to consider what he liked.

“Trust me, you will,” said Harry. “Mere seconds after.” He gripped Draco’s wrist. “I’m ready,” he said. “Time to lube yourself up.”

Draco extracted his hand from Harry, conjuring more lube. Harry rolled over onto his stomach, presenting his beautiful arse to Draco like an offering. Draco pumped his cock gently, not wanting to stimulate it too much. The sight of Harry ready and waiting for him was already a bit much to bear.

Harry turned his head to look at Draco over his shoulder, his eyes suddenly hot and needy as he said, “Go slow at first, for both our sakes. And when you’re fully inside, give me some time to adjust. I will quickly if you don’t move. I’ll tell you when I’m ready and then…” He licked his lips. “Fuck me _hard_ , got it?”

Draco nodded, his stomach flipping and his heart pounding. “Got it.”

He moved closer, adjusting Harry’s legs wider, giving him better access to Harry’s entrance. Gripping his cock, he placed the head at Harry’s hole, teasing in and out a bit. Harry moaned eagerly and squirmed against the bed.

 _Merlin, he really wants this_ , Draco thought, and had to compose himself. He wouldn’t – couldn’t - come just upon entering. He refused to ruin this for both of them.

_Our first time._

He pushed forward, breaching the tight, hot space. He paused, then pushed forward some more, focusing on taking it slow as Harry instructed, rather than on how deliciously Harry was squeezing him and how incredible that heat felt around his shaft. Feeling it with a finger was one thing, but this was altogether more revelatory.

 _Don’t think about that._ He couldn’t think about the way Harry’s muscles were already trying to milk him, or the way Harry moaned erotically as Draco sank further into him, inch by slow inch.

He finally hit the point where he could go no further, his hips pressed against Harry’s arse, his sac resting against Harry’s warm skin. He trembled with the need to move, but he kept in control, breathing as he felt Harry clench and relax, clench and relax. To take his mind off his cock he bent forward, kissing and licking Harry on his shoulder blades.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice was rough, whether in lust or discomfort, Draco didn’t know until he looked up and their eyes met. Harry’s pupils were blown, his irises only a thin, shimmering ring of green around them. “Fuck me. Please.”

Draco placed one more kiss on his shoulder before pulling back and pulling his cock out enough to get really good leverage. Then, his heart in his throat, he slammed forward, making Harry cry out below him.

“Like that?” he gasped out.

“Again,” Harry demanded, and when Draco slammed home once more Harry hissed, “Yes.  _Yes._ Fast and hard, Draco. Give it to me.”

And so Draco upped the pace, keeping his thrusts powerful and punishing, trusting that Harry’s moans were those of pleasure. The brunet was clutching the mattress, trembling as he held himself up under Draco’s unremitting blows.

The pleasure was intense around Draco’s cock, but he kept it at bay by focusing on Harry. He wished he knew if he was hitting the man’s prostate, but Harry was groaning and writhing so much that it was impossible to tell which thrusts were hitting home. However, with the way Harry was working himself against Draco, starting to meet him thrust for thrust, moaning and whimpering all the while, Draco could only assume he was doing _something_ right. 

“Oh, _Gods_ ,” he breathed. Harry was rolling against him in the most perfect way, his arse cocooning every inch of Draco’s shaft in heat and pleasure. As predicted he wasn’t going to last, which was probably for the best, as his legs were shaking and his abdominal muscles screaming at him with the effort of fucking Harry at this brutal pace.

Which meant it was time for Harry to come too.

Resting on one elbow he reached around Harry with his other arm, his hand finding Harry’s rigid pole of an erection. Precum coated his hand as he worked the shaft, and Harry mewled and started moving faster, grinding forward into Draco’s hand and then back against Draco’s cock, and then forward again. Back and forth, back and forth. The movements were desperate, and Draco knew he was close.

“That’s it, Harry,” he said. “Come for me. Come around my cock. Milk me until I fill you with cum.”

“Oh, yes, Draco,” Harry replied, his cock starting to pulse. “Come inside me. Empty yourself into me. Give me everything!”

Harry had been right; the pleasure was unreal when Harry finally came and his muscles tightened around Draco. There was no holding back, and Draco shot his load with an incoherent cry, thrusting erratically as his climax moved through him in waves.

He buried his face in Harry’s shoulder, his cock still inside the brunet and moving in almost imperceptible little thrusts as Harry wrung every last drop out of him with his powerful muscles. Merlin, it felt so _good_. He never wanted to leave Harry’s arse. He would be content to stay there forever.

But eventually he softened and slipped out with a groan, and Harry groaned beneath him as well. It was a satisfied sound, and Draco smiled against Harry’s slick and sweaty skin.

“Was that hard enough for you?” Draco asked, hoping to magic the answer was yes. Harry deserved satisfaction on every level, and Draco wanted to be the one to give it to him.

Harry released a breath that was almost a laugh and said, “That was _exactly_ what I needed.”

Draco kissed his skin lazily. “Good.”

He lay there a moment or two longer, then made himself move, knowing Harry was supporting a lot of his weight. They were also quite a sticky mess, the two of them, and he grabbed his wand and cast some cleansing charms over them, including the gentle one to remove the cum from inside Harry. The Gryffindor grunted, as though suddenly bereft.

“Now I feel all empty,” he said, looking at Draco with one eye as the rest of his face was pressed into the pillow. His voice was a little muffled, but Draco could make out half of his smile. “I guess you’ll just have to fill me up, again, hm?”

Draco chuckled. “Let a man recover a bit, won’t you?”

Harry rolled his one visible eye. “I meant later, of course. I need to recover too. It really has been a while since I bottomed.”

Draco stroked a hand lightly up and down Harry’s back. “But it was all right, right? I mean… it was good? I didn’t hurt you or-“

“It was great, Draco. Really great. I wanted a pounding and you gave me one, in exactly the right way. I’m just going to be sore, that’s all. I may take a pain potion later.”

“But that’s not a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not a bad thing. It can be sort of… it’s hard to explain. It’s a good kind of ache. A satisfying one.”

Draco’s fingers continued to stroke. He would just have to take Harry’s word for it. “And _you’re_ all right? After… you know… everything today?”

Harry rolled over onto his back and gave Draco a wry smirk. “I was wondering when you were going to finally ask me that. I figured it was only a matter of time.”

“Well…” Draco wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was here, so he went with honesty. “It’s a reasonable question, isn’t it? But I also don’t want to pry into your life. If you want me to butt out, you can always just tell me.”

Harry closed his eyes. “I’m all right. I’m… if this were five years ago, I probably wouldn’t be so all right. I’d probably be drowning in guilt.”

“For not agreeing to see your uncle?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “I used to think the way he treated me was my fault. I mean… that’s how he _wanted_ me to feel so… I still had some of that buried in me, even as an adult. But I saw a Mind Healer about it, right around the time I started teaching at Hogwarts. Not just because of my uncle, because of a lot of things. My Auror work, and the war.” He chewed on his lip. “Anyway, I put most of that behind me. I don’t feel guilty anymore. I know I don’t owe him anything.”

Draco reached out tentatively and placed a hand on Harry’s flat stomach. Harry smiled softly, seeming happy to have him there.

“Can I ask…?” Draco began, wondering at what point he would cross the line and cause Harry to retreat. But Harry simply watched him, waiting for him to finish the question. “What you said, about how your uncle was second only to… to Voldemort in how much he hated you… Is that really… true?”

“You find it hard to believe? You think there are other people who hate me enough to come second?” Harry asked, sounding amused. “I mean, you actually have a point. I have been rather hated, or at least strongly disliked, by a lot of people. But most of them disliked me on principle, or because they didn’t know me and believed all the nasty rumors about me, or the dislike was more complicated, like with Snape, for example.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just… the way you said it…” Draco hesitated, wondering how to phrase it in a diplomatic way. “I mean, Voldemort hated you so much that he wanted you dead. He wanted to _kill_ you. That’s a level of hatred that’s rather hard to imagine, to be honest.”

“Well, that’s comforting,” Harry said, still seeming amused.

“So when you say your uncle was second to that,” Draco pressed, ignoring him, “are you saying that he…” He couldn’t finish he sentence.

But Harry seemed to understand. “He never wanted to kill me, that’s true. But I really don’t think he would be upset if I died. I think he would be relieved. One less bother in his life, in that case.”

Draco tried to take that in, the wheels in his mind turning rapidly. “This isn’t just about you being gay, then, is it?”

Harry snorted. “Gods, no. That’s hardly the issue. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the man’s a homophobic bastard and a massive, unapologetic bigot. But my sexuality is only just one of the many reasons he disapproves of my very existence, and it’s pretty low on the list.”

“What’s at the top?”

Harry pursed his lips. “That would be my magic, without question.”

“But…” Draco’s brow furrowed. “You’ve been magical your whole life. You were _born_ magical.”

“Well, I was born gay, too, you know,” Harry said with the arch of a brow.

“Yeah, but you didn’t know you were gay until you were grown.”

“Well, I didn’t know I was magical until I was eleven,” Harry countered. “But Vernon did, so, your point still stands.” He sighed. “Yes, he hated me for something I was born with, something I couldn’t change about myself, something he had no reason to hate me for, other than that it made me ‘not normal,’ and according to Vernon Dursley there is nothing worse than not being normal.” His fingers danced softly across the knuckles of Draco’s hand as it rested on Harry’s stomach. They traced the joints in small circles and figure eights absently. “It wasn’t just him at the time, though. It was the whole family. My Aunt Petunia… well… I don’t know if she _hated_ me. She was afraid of me, of what might happen to Dudley if my freakish magic was unleashed. And she was also carrying around a lot of baggage from her childhood, being jealous that my mum got to go to Hogwarts and have magic when she couldn’t. And my cousin hated me because he was raised to hate me. In a way, it wasn’t really his fault. When he grew up he made things right with me. He’s really made an effort, and he’s also bridged the gap between my aunt and I.” He looked at Draco. “They were in hiding during the height of the war, that final year, under Order protection. And when the war ended, and Voldemort was dead, members of the Order told them what happened, how I sacrificed myself and died, and then came back to life. Apparently that… I don’t know what happened, but it changed my aunt. It changed her feelings towards me. I don’t know why. But she was more accepting. She apologized for her part in my…” He trailed off, turning his gaze to the ceiling.

“Her part in your what?” Draco asked, genuinely unsure about how that sentence was supposed to end.

Harry looked at him again, more warily this time. “This isn’t something I… talk about. I mean, there are people who know. My Mind Healer from five years ago, and Ron and Hermione, and Sirius, though it’s only his portrait who knows and not the real him. I don’t talk about it because I don’t like to, and because it’s better if not many people know. It’s better for me. It’s better for…” He licked his lips. “It’s just better.”

“All right…”

“But we’re here, and you heard some things between me and Dudley and you… you’re _here_ , so I’m just… talking.” He put a hand over his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know why I’m talking so much.”

Draco waited, wondering if Harry was going to go on. Then he thought maybe Harry needed some sort of reassurance from Draco before he could.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he said. “But I wouldn’t tell anyone. Whatever you told me, I wouldn’t talk to anyone about it.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” said Harry. “But you might not want to know.”

“I do want to know. I don’t _have_ to know, but I do want to.”

Harry eyed him. “You say that now…”

Draco propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at Harry. “You think I haven’t already figured out, based on what you’ve just said, that your home life with your aunt and uncle was fairly fucked up? It’s obvious that it was, and it’s obvious that you might tell me some disturbing or upsetting things if you give me the details. I’m already prepared for all that. And I’m all right with it. I’ve seen plenty of fucked up things myself, and I already burden you regularly with the sordid details of my failed marriage and how much of a bastard my father is. I don’t see this as being all that different.”

Harry blinked at him, and Draco settled back down into the bed, resting his head on a pillow only inches from Harry. Something entered those green eyes, then, a kind of clarity.

“You’re right,” Harry said. “I sometimes forget that other people… I don’t know… When I was a kid I felt so alone. I had no one. And sometimes I _still_ feel that way, even though I have people around me all the time who care about me. But when you’re alone for so long, you start to think no one else can understand or relate to your problems. But a lot of people can. I forget that sometimes. That’s rather self-absorbed, I suppose.”

Draco snorted. “ _You_ of all people don’t have to worry about being self-absorbed.”

Harry sighed. “I do, though, because when you’ve been labeled the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World, and people are fawning all over you all the time, you have to make sure it doesn’t go to your head. I have to be very conscious of it.”

“Is that really what you want to talk about right now, or are you just avoiding discussing your aunt and uncle and what they did? Because by all means, avoid away, if you want. I’m not going to make you tell me about it.” Harry scowled, and Draco pressed on. “But it seems like maybe you do want to talk about it. And if that’s the case, then you should probably quit changing the subject.”

Harry sighed heavily. “Where do I begin, then? It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Well, you could start by finishing that sentence you didn’t finish. Your aunt apologized for her part in your…” He waited, letting the unfinished sentence hang between them.

“My abusive childhood,” Harry said, closing his eyes.

“All right,” Draco said, after a moment. “That’s a start.”

Harry stared at the ceiling for long enough that Draco thought maybe that was all he was going to say. But then he took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and started talking.

He began with the small things: the way Harry had to wear his cousin’s hand-me-down clothes, or the fact that he only got Dudley’s leftovers to eat, while his cousin could have whatever he wanted. It sounded unfair, certainly, but Draco had a feeling that these were just pieces of a much larger picture he couldn’t quite see yet.

Then Harry talked about his birthdays, or lack thereof, and the way he was forced to watch while Dudley opened a mountain of presents on his own birthday. And he talked about the bullying from Dudley, and the way he kept other children from befriending Harry, and the way Vernon and Petunia told his teachers and neighbors he was a troublemaker, and was not to be trusted, which was further confirmed whenever Harry would do some accidental magic to protect himself.

And then he talked about the cupboard, and Draco could see the picture quite clearly.

“They wanted you to feel worthless, which is why they constantly compared you to your cousin, and gave him everything while they gave you nothing.”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Pretty much.”

“And they wanted you isolated too, obviously, so you had nowhere to turn for help.”

Harry sighed. “Yep.”

Draco shifted, rolling onto his stomach for a moment to quell some of the restless energy that was building up in him. “How long did they make you live in the cupboard?”

“Until the summer before I left for Hogwarts. When my Hogwarts letter came, it was addressed to me in my cupboard, and they became convinced that wizards were spying on them. So they moved me into Dudley’s second bedroom, as a precaution.”

“Your cousin had two bedrooms,” Draco clarified flatly.

“Yeah, until I moved into one of them. Though he didn’t move out his stuff. You know, all his broken toys he didn’t use but didn’t want to get rid of. But I didn’t have very much stuff, so it didn’t really matter. It was better than the cupboard anyway. Although…”

That led to a story about bars on the windows and a catflap on the door and being let out only for bathroom breaks, all because a house elf (Draco’s former house elf, no less) had smashed a pudding in the kitchen.

“They were trying to keep me from going back to Hogwarts,” Harry explained in response to Draco’s horrified expression. “They always wanted to keep me from doing magic, if they could. But then Ron and the twins rescued me in their dad’s flying Ford Anglia, so… I got out, in the end.”

“They fed you through a flap in your bedroom door,” Draco said, resting his chin on one of his hands and staring at the headboard. He realized he was simply repeating a lot of what Harry was saying in disbelief, but he couldn’t help it. “They kept you prisoner, to stop you from learning magic.”

“That was the most important thing,” Harry said. “Keep me from magic at all costs. They didn’t even want me to know I was a wizard.”

“I suppose they thought, if you learned magic, you’d one day return and take your revenge, and there was nothing they could do to stop you.”

“I thought about it,” Harry said darkly. “I thought about it a lot more than I care to admit, especially…”

“Especially…”

But Harry only shook his head.

“Something worse than what you’ve already told me?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I guess not. Or maybe... It… Most of their abuse was psychological and verbal, you know? It was… horrible, but once I learned I was a wizard and went to Hogwarts and made friends, it got so much easier. I started to have hope. It made the things they said seem… foolish, I guess, and they lost a lot of their power. They could only really get me upset by insulting my parents, which they did, sometimes. But for the most part it was all right, after I started Hogwarts. But before…” He ran a hand over his face, making a frustrated noise, as if he were exasperated with himself. Finally he sighed and looked at Draco again. “There were times when it was physical.”

It took Draco a second to catch up. “The abuse?”

“Yeah.”

“They hit you?”

“Vernon did. A few times, only when I did some accidental magic that was really bad. He would… beat me, with a belt.”

Draco thought about some of the scars he had seen on Harry’s back, scars that looked like they were from a whipping.

_Or a belting._

“How old were you?” he asked Harry quietly.

“The first one was… when I was about eight, I think? Eight or nine. Like I said, it only happened a few times.”

Draco swallowed, hiding his shaking hands under his pillow. He found it made no difference that Harry’s tone was matter-of-fact, that he could talk about this without tears in his eyes or a tremor in his voice. That didn’t seem to stop the powerful anger that was roiling inside him heavily like molten lead.

“Is there anything else?” he rasped.

Harry turned to him again. “There’s plenty, but… I think you’ve got a good sense of things. I’ve hit the important bits anyway.”

“Mm,” said Draco. He didn’t know how to deal with this feeling he was having, like he wanted to wrap Harry in his arms and never let him go, only it wasn’t this grown Harry he wanted to do that for, it was the small Harry, the one that didn’t really exist anymore.

But those feelings did no good, because Harry didn’t want to be babied, or pitied. Draco could see that much.

And the desires he had to go find the Dursleys and rip out their throats with his bare hands, well… those feelings didn’t do him much good either.

“Well,” he said finally, when it was clear Harry wanted him to say _something_. “At least I can confirm, without a doubt, that you definitely shouldn’t feel guilty about not visiting your uncle on his deathbed. Frankly, you simply ignoring him is far more than he deserves.”

“Yeah, probably,” Harry agreed. “But cursing him into nothing would upset Dudley and Petunia, so…”

Draco scoffed. “There’s something else I don’t understand. They were awful to you as well.”

“So how could I forgive them?”

“Right.”

“There’s a complicated answer to that, and there’s a simple one. The simple one is that I didn’t want to hang onto anger anymore, if I could help it. And if they wanted to make amends, I figured that could be healing, for all of us. And I wanted to move on. It’s been a good thing, overall, I think. Things with Petunia are still… a little rocky sometimes, but Dudley… he’s genuinely a decent bloke now. He doesn’t always understand me, and he’s still uncomfortable around magic, but he puts up with it, for my sake. He makes an effort.”

Draco supposed he could see how that was true. It still just seemed too… generous of Harry, given what he had gone through. But it wasn’t his life. “If you say so,” he said.

“You’re angry.”

Draco looked at him. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t really have a right to be. It was you that all this happened to.”

“No. Angry is good. Angry is…” He thought a moment. “Angry is better than a lot of other things.”

“Like if I felt sorry for you?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I mean, maybe I do for small Harry, for the child you were, but not for who you are now. After everything you’ve done and are doing, for everything that you are _now_ … all I have is… admiration.”

Harry reached up, running a hand along Draco’s forehead, right on the edge of his fringe. “You have a way of… helping me see things clearly,” he said. Draco wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply smiled softly. “Come here,” Harry said, pulling him closer. “Enough talking. Time to just... _feel_ something.”

“Mm, and what exactly would you like to feel right now?” Draco asked, his mouth playing with the skin under Harry’s jaw.

“You,” Harry replied, bucking against him, rubbing their bodies together. “Everywhere.”

Draco smiled. He didn’t _really_ know what Harry meant by that, but he was more than happy to take the time to figure it out.


	11. Lesson 11: It's All in the Timing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again for all of your amazing feedback! Act II of this story has officially begun. The second school term happens a lot faster than the first, so don't be surprised if there are some time skips in the next few chapters.
> 
> And otherwise, just enjoy the (still very smutty) ride! <3

It was midnight, and Draco was sitting on his sofa. He was sitting on his sofa, sipping Ogden’s as slowly as he could manage, and waiting for the paper dragon on his coffee table to roar.

It had been silent since around 8:30 that evening, when Harry had written him:

_Something has come up with one of my students. I think I’m going to be late tonight._

Draco had written back saying that he understood, and that Harry should write when he was finally on his way.

That had been over three hours ago.

Draco stood up to get more firewhiskey.

He knew Harry wasn’t simply blowing him off. Harry wouldn’t do that. There was no doubt in his mind that something really had come up (one of the Gryffindors acting out, in all likelihood), and as head of Gryffindor house it fell on Harry and perhaps the Headmistress to handle it.

He also knew he’d be better off trying to get ahead on his marking, or reading, or doing anything other than sitting in front of his paper dragon and waiting for it to roar. But he couldn’t seem to help himself.

 _It’s pathetic_ , he told himself as he sipped his whiskey. _Pathetic and stupid and… pathetic._

And yet still he sat, and watched, and waited.

It was just that things had been a bit trickier for them lately, having returned to Hogwarts and gotten back into the full swing of the new term. They’d enjoyed about two weeks of a more leisurely pace right at the start of the term, when they could meet up regularly. It still felt very different from being together at Grimmauld, where they’d spent every night in Harry’s bed, sometimes not even having sex but just talking or sleeping.

But now it was back to coordinating schedules and sneaking around Hogwarts at night. Draco was finding it more stressful and less enjoyable than he remembered from the previous term. A part of him wished that he and Harry were out in the open so they wouldn’t have to deal with this aspect of it, so they could have each night in one or another’s quarters and not worry if people saw them constantly visiting each other.

He knew Harry was feeling the same. Only a few mornings ago Draco made himself roll out of Harry’s bed before the sun was even up, and Harry had groused about it, seeming genuinely bad-tempered.

“If I’m going to stay the night,” Draco had said impatiently, “then I have to leave early, so no one sees. You know that.”

“Oh, just let them see,” Harry had grumbled in return. “Honestly, who would even care?”

“ _I_ care,” Draco had snapped. “And so do you. You said so yourself, and we agreed.”

Harry was silent in bed while Draco finished getting dressed. He closed his eyes, feeling guilty for being short with Harry. Draco was tired and not in the best of moods about having to leave so early either, but that wasn’t an excuse. He came around to Harry’s side of the bed and sat down. Harry sat up a little, propping himself against a pillow and watching Draco with sleepy but wary eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said, placing a hand gently against Harry’s neck. “I know this isn’t the easiest way to do this, but I’m just not ready. I’m not ready for people to know about me yet.”

“About us?” Harry amended, guiding Draco’s hand lower until it rested on Harry’s bare chest, right over his heart.

Draco had to swallow. Harry probably didn’t realize what an intimate gesture this felt like to Draco, and Draco wasn’t going to say anything about it. Harry had a way of taking very intimate things for granted, sometimes, of saying words or doing things he’d probably said and done with a dozen other lovers without thinking twice. But to Draco it meant more, and he had to remind himself that it didn’t to Harry, lest he get carried away.

“About any of it,” he hedged. “I don’t want to be beholden to my parents’ wishes for me anymore, but I _will_ still have to deal with a lot of fallout if I come out as bisexual. And then there’s how things will change, and perhaps get more difficult, for us here at Hogwarts if people find out. We just… can’t reveal it right now. It’s not the right time.”

“I know,” Harry said with a sigh, gripping Draco’s hand. “I know that.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said again, leaning in and giving Harry a soft kiss.

“It’s all right,” Harry said. “It will get easier in the summer again, I suppose.”

Draco stifled his surprise. Harry expected to have enough to teach him that they would last through the summer? Not that Draco was going to complain. He had just been sure that Harry would break it off before then, or that they both would. Harry would want to return to his other lovers eventually, and Draco would want to put what he had learned to good use with other people as well, wouldn’t he?

 _That doesn’t mean we can’t also still sleep together every now and then,_ he reminded himself.

“Yes, it will,” he said, which he felt was just the right amount of noncommittal. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up or come to expect anything. That wasn’t what this arrangement was about.

Draco stared at the paper dragon now, willing it to move, and remembering the feel of Harry’s heartbeat under his hands as he had sat there a moment longer, on that bed, looking at Harry. The sun had been threatening to rise, and he knew he had to leave, but there had been something in Harry’s eyes that held him there, unable, or not wanting, to move.

 _Is this arrangement getting out of control?_ he asked himself. It was past midnight now, Monday night having just tipped into Tuesday morning, and he should have been asleep by now. But he couldn’t stop waiting. He couldn’t stop hoping.

The dragon roared.

Heart leaping, Draco tapped on it with his wand and leaned over the page to read Harry’s message.

_I’m really sorry. That meeting went longer than I thought possible and I’m completely knackered. We should probably just reschedule for another night._

Draco stared at the words, his hope deflating. Harry wasn’t coming.

He sighed and looked at the clock. He couldn’t exactly blame the man, given that it was well past midnight and they both had classes in the morning. Still, it made him feel like a fool for sitting here and waiting for him.

 _Pathetic and stupid_ , he admonished himself. Still, he wasn’t about to let Harry know what he was feeling.

He erased Harry’s message and wrote one of his own.

_Rescheduling would be best. Let me know what nights you are free._

He sent that off, then waited a few minutes for a reply. Nothing came.

Feeling dejected and more than a little annoyed, he went off to bed. He wasn’t going to wait around to hear from Harry any longer.

***

The next morning, as he was having a quick breakfast in his quarters before his first class, Draco saw that the dragon on his coffee table was moving again. He nearly pulled out his wand to read the message Harry had sent him, but then stopped himself. He’d had to wait around all night for Harry, only to have him cancel, in the end. So maybe Harry should have to wait around until Draco felt like replying.

He watched the dragon rear up and paw the ground as he finished the rest of his Danish, ignoring the slight anxiety it induced in him, the need to tap on it and see what Harry had to say. He would have control of himself. He would not be beholden to anyone’s whims, and that included Harry’s.

He took the last sip of tea, called for a house elf to retrieve the dishes, and left his quarters without looking back.

***

Harry tracked him down while Draco was on his way to lunch. One moment Draco was walking along, considering the project he’d just assigned to his 5th years in preparation for their OWLs at the end of the term, when he felt a gentle hand on his back and another on his arm, guiding him out of the corridor and into an empty classroom.

“What-“ he began but was cut off as he caught a glimpse of heated green eyes and a half smiling mouth, a mouth that took his in a warm, deep kiss.

Draco let himself relax. He’d never minded Harry grabbing and kissing him when he wanted, and he wasn’t about to start now. He returned the kiss and then the smile as the brunet pulled away after a moment.

“Did you get my message this morning?” Harry asked him.

“This morning?” Draco asked, playing innocent. “Sorry. I must have missed it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply last night. After I sent that first one off I crawled into bed and just passed out. I was exhausted.”

Draco looked properly at Harry’s face and saw that there _were_ bags under his eyes, perhaps from fatigue, or stress.

“I’m really sorry about missing last night,” Harry said. “I really wanted to see you. I’d been thinking about it all weekend.”

Draco nodded. He had been too. It had just been bad luck that they’d both been on duty at various times on both Saturday and Sunday and couldn’t meet up until Monday.

“And then this issue came up, one I _thought_ had been handled, and it turned into a whole… thing.”

“Is everything all right now?” Draco asked.

Harry sighed. “Not yet. There are still things to resolve. It was fallout from a scuffle between one of my Gryffindors and a Slytherin over the weekend. By all accounts the Slytherin had instigated it, and Francesca took care of it as far as discipline went. She gave him a week’s worth of detention, which I thought was fair. But then my Gryffindor, Roger Paine - I’m sure you’re familiar with him.”

“Ah, yes,” Draco said. Paine was not a bad kid, per se, but he did have quite a sense of entitlement, and a tendency to blame his shortcomings on others rather than be accountable to them himself. “He’s one of my OWL students.”

“Right. So, he wrote his parents, telling them what happened and what punishment was given, and his parents got all in an uproar because Creedmoor - that's the Slytherin student - wasn’t punished enough, they thought. On top of that, yesterday a number of Paine’s friends decided to get revenge on Creedmoor in the meantime-“

“Oh no,” Draco said, clearly seeing where this was going.

“Yeah,” agreed Harry. “They put him in the hospital wing with multiple injuries from hexes. It was a right mess. I spent the entire night last night with Minerva and Francesca and those blasted students, trying to sort through what happened and doling out punishments accordingly. It took forever to get the full account of events.”

“That sounds awful,” Draco said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s the one thing I truly hate about being a head of house,” Harry said with a shake of his head. “And it’s not over yet. Francesca and I have a meeting with the students’ parents on Thursday. I’m really not looking forward to it. Students I am happy to deal with, but difficult parents are far worse.”

Draco snorted in amusement and agreement, remembering the way his father had interfered for him at Hogwarts when Draco was a student. He’d liked it at the time; he felt it was the way his father showed him he cared about him. But looking back he could see how truly obnoxious the man’s behavior was.

“Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be getting the full story at our next staff meeting.”

“I’m sure I will,” said Draco. “In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you? Anything that would help?”

Harry grinned. “Well, now that you mention it, a long night of passionate shagging would definitely do me some good.”

Draco laughed. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Good. I have patrol tonight, so maybe tomorrow?”

“Can’t. That’s when I have patrol.”

“Bugger,” Harry said under his breath. “And I have the parent meeting Thursday, and I have no idea how long it’s going to last.”

“So it’s Friday, then.”

Harry nodded. “Friday. I wish it was sooner, but…” He cupped Draco’s jaw with one hand. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“We’ll make it count,” Draco said.

Harry kissed him, long and lingering. “Until then, I suppose I’ll just have to pull you into dark corners occasionally and snog you, to take the edge off.”

Smiling, Draco leaned forward for another kiss, and Harry obliged with a soft moan.

“It’s getting more difficult, isn’t it?” the brunet said when their lips parted. “I don’t remember it being this difficult last term.”

“We got spoiled at Grimmauld,” Draco said. “We got used to having every day. And we can’t have that anymore. So it probably feels more difficult now, to not have as much time.”

Harry watched him a moment, his face soft and considering. “I miss Grimmauld,” he said finally, simply.

One of Draco’s hands played at the collar of Harry’s robes, not far from his heartbeat, unable to help the strange, sweet ache kindling inside him.

“So do I.”

***

Draco and the rest of the staff did in fact hear all the details of the incident at the staff meeting on Wednesday, along with another interesting tidbit of information.

“As you all know, our dear Pomona is going to be retiring after this year,” McGonagall said, looking around the staff table.

Most of the staff tittered and nodded, giving Sprout, who had announced her retirement before the end of last term, wistful smiles.

“And I am now excited to announce,” the Headmistress continued, “that the position has been filled for next year by a promising young Herbology Master, one of Pomona’s best students: Neville Longbottom.”

There were sounds of delight and surprise around the table, but Draco didn’t join in. It wasn’t that he disliked Longbottom these days; he didn’t really know the man. But Longbottom would have every reason to dislike _him_ , what with the way that Draco bullied him in school. And he knew Harry and the other Gryffindor were good friends and had been since their school days.

 _I hope things don’t get awkward_ , he thought with some anxiety.

“Neville will be coming for an orientation on Friday,” McGonagall told the group. “He’ll sit in on Pomona’s Friday classes to observe and then will spend the weekend with her getting familiar with the greenhouses. Please be kind and welcoming to him, and let him know how excited we are that he’ll be joining our ranks. He knows he has very big shoes to fill and he wants to do the job well. He’ll need our support and encouragement.”

The staff nodded along to that, everyone in agreement. Draco snuck a glance at Harry to find that he was listening to the headmistress with a relaxed smile on his face, his eyes crinkling and flickering with happiness. Of course, Harry would be glad his friend was coming to teach at Hogwarts.

_And if I want to keep Harry, then I should be kind to Longbottom, and make amends if I have to._

The thought shocked him. Keep Harry? Since when had he been worrying about _keeping_ Harry?

 _As a friend,_ he clarified, for his own sake. _I do want to keep him as a friend, of course._

***

When Longbottom arrived on Friday, however, Draco found it a bit difficult to be nice to him.

For one thing, he was far more strapping and handsome than he really had any right to be, considering the pudgy and blundering adolescent he had been not so long ago. All of his baby fat had turned to muscle, it seemed, and his face had thinned out enough that it made his asymmetrical features ruggedly, unconventionally attractive. He was tan, even though it was winter, and seemed to have a glow around him that hinted at his life of spending a great deal of time out of doors. Draco imagined that if he were to get close enough, the man would smell like nature, like earth and sun, fresh and healthy.

For another, Harry was positively beaming at him all morning, as the staff gathered in the teacher’s lounge to greet him before breakfast, and Longbottom was beaming right back. Harry had quickly pulled him into a full embrace upon seeing him, and the two men kept smiling at each other as they talked and chatted with the other teachers, occasionally patting each other on the back or clapping each other on the shoulder in a way that hinted at a long and deep-rooted intimacy.

 _Have they been lovers?_ Draco kept asking himself, unable to help it. _Has Harry slept with him?_

Or worse, maybe Harry hadn’t, but had always _wanted_ to. Maybe Harry was finally thinking he would get his chance.

 _Calm down_ , Draco insisted to himself. _You don’t even know if Longbottom is gay._ He thought, with some relief, that he had heard about the Gryffindor dating a woman recently, some Hufflepuff, if he remembered correctly. He could have sworn he’d heard that somewhere. So the man couldn’t be gay.

Then again, Draco wasn’t gay either, and he’d wound up in Harry’s bed anyway. There were no guarantees.

 _Merlin’s hairy bollocks,_ he thought to himself. He couldn’t wait for Longbottom to leave.

Still, he made an effort, reaching out a hand for the Gryffindor to shake and congratulating him on the post. Longbottom was more than gracious, friendly even, and said that he was looking forward to all of their joint work together, as the Herbology and Potions professors had considerable overlap in their subjects. Draco had managed to smile and return the sentiment, though inside he was rather bitter at the reminder. If Draco stayed on at Hogwarts past this year, as he had every intention of doing, he and Longbottom were going to be working together closely. And Draco was going to have to find a way to live with that.

The last straw came at the end of the morning gathering, as the teachers were getting ready to leave for the Great Hall and supervise breakfast. Longbottom was talking about his schedule for the weekend, and what an intensive day Saturday was going to be.

“I can’t believe Hogwarts has five greenhouses to manage now,” he was saying to Harry and Francesca, who were both listening intently. “ _Five._ One of them is all nocturnal plants, did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Francesca replied.

“It will be a late night for me Saturday,” Longbottom said, “But it’s worth it, for the breadth of the education the students will get, of course.” He turned to Harry. “Still, since I can’t do Saturday, maybe we could have drinks tonight instead? It’s been forever since I’ve been to the Three Broomsticks.”

Draco’s heart sank. Of _course_ Longbottom would want to go out and have drinks with Harry the one night that Draco and Harry had found to spend time together that week. Harry locked eyes with Draco a moment, an apology clear in them, and Draco realized the inevitable. They were going to have to reschedule again.

After all, what was Harry supposed to say? “Sorry, can’t tonight. Draco and I have plans to shag each other until we can’t move”? No, he could hardly say that. And what other way would he be able to get out of it?

 _That’s if he even wants to_ , Draco thought, then scolded himself. He knew Harry wanted him. He knew Harry wanted to spend time with him. And even if he was interested in Longbottom sexually, why should Draco even care? They weren’t exclusive. Why was he getting so riled up about this in the first place?

“It’s settled then,” Longbottom was saying now. “Drinks tonight, before all of my hard work begins. Anyone who wants to should come. That includes you both.” He indicated Draco and Francesca. “I’d love to catch up and reminisce about our Hogwarts days.”

Draco found that hard to believe, considering he and Longbottom hadn’t exactly been copasetic back then. Still, he accepted the invitation. At least it meant that the two Gryffindors wouldn’t be getting drinks on their own.

Longbottom was a dominating presence all through the day, monopolizing Harry’s time during meals and remaining the center of attention with most of the teachers. Draco breathed through it, mustering his patience, and managed to occasionally participate in the conversation. Mostly he just listened, though, and ate quietly and unobtrusively.

The one saving grace was that he would look up every now and then to find Harry watching him, not paying all that much attention to the conversation either. When Draco caught him at it Harry would smile, a secret warmth in his eyes that would make Draco blush and stare down at his plate. Then Longbottom would get Harry’s attention again, and Harry would return to the conversation without missing a beat.

They were small moments, but they told Draco that Harry still had him in his thoughts and wasn’t simply smitten with Longbottom and his arrival at Hogwarts.

Someone else _was_ quite smitten though: Francesca.

“That Neville Longbottom is rather something, isn’t he?” she said to Draco as they walked through the castle together Friday evening, making their way outside and towards Hogsmeade. Draco had offered to walk with her to the Three Broomsticks, since Harry and Longbottom were already there, and she had been happy to take him up on it. “Kind, intelligent, handsome… and a pureblood to boot. The total package.”

“You have eyes for Longbottom?” Draco asked her, more surprised than anything.

“Well, why not? Like I said, he’s quite a catch. And he’s going to be teaching here next year. That leaves plenty of time for us to get to know each other.” She eyed him a moment. “Do you have something against him? You’ve been rather quiet since he arrived.”

“We just didn’t get on in school,” Draco said. “I don’t really know anything about who he is now. I pass no judgments.”

Francesca made a considering noise but otherwise didn’t reply. They walked in silence for a bit, now in the entrance hall. The large oak doors opened for them, and they stepped out into the cold winter night. Draco pulled out his wand and cast some warming charms over the both of them as they walked.

“I was just surprised,” Draco said. “That was all. Yes, he’s a pureblood, but he’s also a Gryffindor.”

Francesca arched a brow at him, and then broke into full on laughter. Draco waited patiently for that to subside.

“You’re one to talk,” Francesca said finally, after she’d gotten herself under control.

That made Draco pause, and he turned to her. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me, Draco. I already know you have your very own Gryffindor you’re spending time with at least once a week.”

Draco was speechless. Francesca _knew_? She knew about him and Harry?

“You must think me spectacularly unobservant, if you thought I had missed it,” she said. “It’s in everything you do: the way you look at each other, the way you talk to each other… It’s obvious. Not to mention, I’ve never seen Harry so besotted before. You… you’re a bit harder to read, it’s more subtle. But it’s there. What you two have is obviously something quite special.”

“I… don’t know what to say,” Draco said. It seemed pointless to deny it. Francesca wouldn’t believe him if he attempted to, and all in all she didn’t seem to have a problem with it anyway. Still, there was a chance she had gossiped. “Who else knows?”

“I don’t know,” the witch replied. “If anyone else has noticed the same things I have, they haven’t said anything to me about it. And I haven’t said anything to anyone. I figured that if you wanted people to know, you would have told them yourself.”

Draco nodded. “We would have. But at this point, it needs to remain a secret.”

“I understand. And I assume it’s because there are people in your life who don’t know about your sexuality?”

Draco huffed a laugh. Francesca was a shrewd woman. “A lot of people don’t know. Most people.”

Francesca sighed and nodded. “I can understand that too. The pressure of the pureblood world, and all. But still, it… saddens me. You should get to be who you are, in all parts of your life.”

Draco gave her a small smile, showing her he appreciated the sentiment. “Maybe someday,” he said.

“Perhaps,” she replied. “I do wish I had known sooner, though, if only to avoid making a fool of myself.”

Draco reached out and squeezed her hand. “You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”

“Oh, I did, a bit,” she said, her smile self-deprecating. “You gave me hints, but I ignored them. You were trying to be a gentleman. I appreciate that about you. It shows your good breeding and, more importantly, your inherently kind nature. But I would have been better off if you’d simply told me you were gay. I could have moved on more quickly.”

Draco was speechless again, unsure if he should correct her and make it clear that he liked women as well as men. Then again, it was a quite convenient lie of omission. If Francesca believed him gay, that would spare her some feelings of rejection.

“I’m not blaming you,” she said, misreading his silence. “I wouldn’t have expected you to tell me when you’ve hardly told anyone else. I’m only saying… well, it doesn’t matter.”

They were entering Hogsmeade now, and it seemed the right place to end that portion of their conversation.

“Longbottom would be a fool himself not to fall madly in love with you,” Draco told her, the Three Broomsticks within their sights as they made their way down the main thoroughfare. “If he’s struck your fancy, then I say go for it.”

She placed a hand gently on his arm. “Thank you, Draco.”

“Although I thought I had heard that he was dating someone. You’ll have to do some reconnaissance. I’m sure Harry knows the details.”

“I’ve already done some. He was dating Hannah Abbott for a time, but they’ve broken up. I heard Neville talking to Harry about it.”

“Well, there you are then. Now’s your chance.”

“I’ll at least plant the seed,” she said. “He may need some time to get over Abbott. But we’ll be spending all sorts of time together next year and beyond. I’ll make him fall in love with me eventually.”

Draco grinned. “It’s the long game you’re playing then, with this one.”

She smiled back. “With men like him, it’s worth it.”

Draco opened the door to the pub for her and she stepped inside, thanking him with a nod. He followed behind her.

Longbottom, Gibbs, Babbling, and Harry were already gathered around a table, drinks in hand. Draco and Francesca were greeted warmly when they arrived.

“You sit,” Draco said to Francesca, intentionally pulling out a chair for her that was directly next to Longbottom. “I’ll get us drinks. What will you have?”

She gave him a demure but grateful smile. “Mulled wine, please.”

“Coming right up.”

Draco went to the bar and ordered Francesca’s wine, plus a firewhiskey for himself. He felt someone come up beside him and lean on the bar, and when he turned to look, he saw that it was Harry.

“Hi,” the man said.

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to catch you all day. With Neville here, it’s been tricky.”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

“And I’m sorry about tonight. I couldn’t find any way to-“

“It’s all right, Harry. Really.”

There was a beat of silence before Harry said. “Well, in truth, it’s not all right with me. I… needed tonight. With you. It was getting me through the week, thinking about it.”

Draco felt his chest tighten pleasantly. “I needed it too,” he admitted.

“Gods, Draco,” Harry said, leaning in, his voice barely audible. Still, it was clear enough that Draco could hear perfectly. “Just seeing you every day and not being able to… If you knew how much time I spent wanking this week, thinking about you. I’ve been aching to have you inside me again. You have no idea.”

Draco bit back a groan. “Harry,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft while also making it a warning. “You can’t talk to me like that here.”

“Why not?” Harry asked him. “No one can hear us.”

Draco caught his eye, aware that his cheeks were flushed. “Because right now I want to jump you, and we both know this isn’t the place for it.”

“You want to jump me, then jump me,” Harry said, his tone challenging. “Anywhere you like. Just take me into the bathroom and-“

But he cut himself off, because the barmaid was approaching with the drinks Draco had ordered. She put them in front of Draco and he smiled his thanks at her, all the while breathing deeply and trying to get his painful erection to subside.

Harry ordered a firewhiskey from the barmaid, then turned back to Draco. “Tomorrow night, then? If you won’t take me here, tonight, even though I’m begging for it, then it will have to be tomorrow, won’t it?”

“You’re killing me, Harry,” Draco said, but he was fighting off a wide smile. “Tomorrow night. I don’t want a quickie in the loo. I want to be able to take my time with you.” He gave Harry a dark look. “And you’d better be ready, because now you’ve got me all worked up, and I won’t be holding back.”

The barmaid put Harry’s drink in front of him. He thanked her and paid, then leaned into Draco again.

“Is that a promise?” he asked, his voice deep with lust.

“You bet your fine arse, Potter,” Draco said.

Harry laughed, then turned and made his way back to the table. Draco followed.

Francesca was deep in conversation with Longbottom, but she did spare him a thankful glance when Draco put her wine in front of her. Draco situated himself between Babbling and Harry, and though the Ancient Runes professor immediately engaged him in conversation while Harry joined in on Longbottom and Francesca’s, the brunet’s presence was never far from Draco’s awareness. Their knees kept bumping and brushing under the table, and Harry would occasionally sneak his foot up Draco’s trouser leg, the toe of his shoe rubbing along the blond's ankle. Harry even snuck a few caresses with his hand, teasing Draco’s thigh with light touches.

It drove Draco wild, making him think that maybe finding a way to haul Harry into the lav for a quick shag wasn’t such a bad idea after all. But he did his best to hide this as he talked teaching with Babbling for a while, then struck up a debate about illegal creature breeding practices with Gibbs.

Eventually both Babbling and Gibbs called it a night, leaving the younger staff members to enjoy the waning evening. To Draco’s surprise, Longbottom then situated himself next to Draco and asked him what he thought about the latest research on venomous tentacula. Draco, who’d just read an article about it in _Herbology Today_ , was happy to give his opinion.

It turned out that Longbottom had seen the same article, as well as a few others. In fact, the man was surprisingly well-read, and now had an avid interest in Potions that he’d never had as a student. Draco mentioned as much to him.

“It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in Potions,” the Gryffindor said, turning a bit pink, “but I didn’t… well… Professor Snape and I weren’t exactly… we didn’t have the greatest working relationship.”

That was an understatement, of course, considering that the late Potions master had thought the young Longbottom a complete dunce and absolutely useless. Though Draco would always love and miss his godfather, looking back on it he could see how he had thwarted the education of some of his students through his prejudices.

“He was a brilliant teacher for those he favored,” Draco replied. “But for those he didn’t… there were a lot of missed opportunities, I think. To give _all_ students a proper education.”

Longbottom stared at him a moment in surprise, but then his expression softened into gratitude. “He was a… complicated man.”

“That he was,” Draco said with a sigh. “And we were growing up in complicated times. It’s not like that at Hogwarts anymore, you know. Inter-house unity is strongly encouraged. There is still some rivalry, especially between Gryffindor and Slytherin,” he added, thinking of the incident with Roger Paine that Harry was still dealing with, “but it’s not encouraged by the staff. Exactly the opposite, in fact.”

“That’s good to hear,” Longbottom replied. “I don’t think I would want to teach in the same climate I was educated in.” A shadow passed over his face momentarily, and Draco found himself struck with some actual sympathy for the man. It couldn’t have been easy to be the adolescent Neville Longbottom, the screw-up, the victim of bullies, living in the shadow of heroes like Harry Potter and the rest of the Golden Trio. And yet he had found his own way, had become a war hero in his own right. It was… impressive, Draco had to begrudgingly admit.

“The teachers don’t play favorites by house anymore,” Draco assured him. “In fact, one of my favorite students is a Gryffindor, if you can believe it.”

Longbottom grinned. “Really? What’s he like? Give me a sense of the students right now. I’d love to hear all about them.”

“ _She_ is brilliant. At least a year or two ahead of her peers. Harry knows.” He nodded at the other Gryffindor, who was chatting with Francesca on the other side of the table, but looked up as Draco said his name. “I’m taking about McNeal,” he told the brunet.

“Ah, yes, quite brilliant, that one.”

That roped both Harry and Francesca into a conversation on their favorite students, and Longbottom listened intently like a man taking detailed mental notes.

 _All right,_ Draco admitted to himself. _Longbottom is a decent bloke after all._

Conversation moved from the current students to those the four of them had gone to school with and what they were doing now, as well as some good-natured remembrances of their early days at Hogwarts, before the war.

Eventually Francesca declared herself tired and ready to call it a night. She eyed Longbottom hopefully, perhaps expecting him to offer to walk her back up to the castle. But Longbottom had just ordered another drink and seemed content to stay out a bit longer.

“I’ll escort you, if you don’t mind,” Draco told her. “I’m rather tired as well.”

“Thank you, Draco, that would be lovely.”

Draco looked around at the other two men, giving Harry a significant look. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Harry replied, a promising heat in his gaze.

“I’ll be in the greenhouses most of the day, but I’m sure I’ll see you at meals,” Longbottom said. He smiled at Francesca. “It was a pleasure talking to you, Francesca. I look forward to working with you next year.”

Francesca gave him a coy smile. “As do I, Neville.”

They took their leave, walking mostly in silence back up to the castle. Francesca, Draco could tell, was fighting a pleased grin. Apparently the night had gone well for her, and Draco could be nothing but glad. He and Francesca were never meant to be, and he simply wanted to see her happy.

***

 _What will I do first?_ Draco wondered to himself as he paced his rooms, waiting for Harry to arrive. It was Saturday evening and Harry would be coming to him any minute.

 _And we’ll be coming together not long after that_ , he thought with satisfaction. He was confident Harry would show up. He… he _had_ to show up.

 _But what will I do first?_ A hundred possibilities ran through his mind, images of him pinning Harry against the door and snogging him until his lips were raw or bending him over the back of the sofa and immediately plunging inside him. Or maybe he would tease Harry in bed, torment him with his mouth and hands until he was desperate and incoherent, then take him with delicious, merciless slowness while Harry sobbed Draco’s name and begged to come.

 _He’s the teacher_ , he reminded himself. Harry likely had something specific in mind that he wanted. But that was fine too. Whatever Harry wanted, Draco was happy to do it.

There was a knock on the door.

 _Oh, thank Merlin,_ Draco thought, his cock twitching at the very thought of what was about to happen.

He opened the door and Harry was there, smiling gently at him. He looked, if Draco was honest with himself, a bit worse for wear. The bags under his eyes had become more pronounced since the previous day, and his eyelids were nearly at half-mast. But he looked quite happy to see Draco anyway.

“Finally,” Harry said, stepping into the room. He gave Draco a deep, slow kiss that made the blond moan. Harry pulled away, licking his lips as though savoring Draco’s taste. But he still looked quite tired.

“Are you all right?” Draco asked, because he felt he needed to.

“I am now,” said Harry, kissing him again, though more briefly this time.

Draco stared at him a moment, then reached up and ran a thumb under his eyes gently. “Are you sure?”

“It’s fine, really. I’m just a bit worn out. Everything with these students of mine, you know. The meetings with parents and…” He sighed.

“Yeah. I know.”

“And then Neville kept me up late into the night last night.”

“Oh?” Draco said, trying to keep his tone offhand.

“Yeah. Talking about Hannah.”

“His ex?”

Harry nodded. “They just broke up. I mean, they’ve been having problems for a while, which I’ve heard all about already, but they’ve just made it official. It’s been hard on him. I don’t blame him for wanting someone to talk to…” He trailed off. Draco took him by the hand and led him over to the sofa. Harry sat down on it with a grateful sigh and continued. “He _needs_ someone to talk to. And we’ve always been there for each other. Merlin knows he’s been there for me, and I love him like a brother, but…”

“It wasn’t what you needed right now, on top of everything else?” Draco ventured.

Harry gave him an appreciative smile. “Exactly. Any other week, honestly, I would have been happy to talk him through it. But this week… all I could do was nod and hum sympathetically and try to think of _something_ helpful to say, and all the while I was thinking about how you and I could have been shagging like kneazles right then, if it weren’t for him.” His smile turned sheepish. “Is that wrong of me? It sounds wrong.”

“It sounds exactly right to me,” Draco said lightly, making Harry chuckle.

“What can I say? I have selfish thoughts sometimes. I am, in fact, an imperfect person.”

“Thank Merlin for that,” Draco murmured as he played with Harry’s hair. The Gryffindor closed his eyes a moment, as though enjoying it. “I’m surprised Francesca didn’t stay out with you and keep Longbottom company herself,” he added after a few moments of silence.

Harry blinked at Draco as the blond continued to stroke his hair. “She did spend a good portion of the night talking to him, strangely enough, didn’t she?”

Draco smirked. “She fancies him.”

Harry perked up a bit at that, his neck jerking off the sofa. “Really. How do you know?”

“She told me.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really.”

“Does that mean she’s… you know, over you?”

“It would appear so.”

Harry let out a slow, relieved breath. “Good. That’s very good.”

“She realized she needed to move on.”

Harry nodded absently. “Sure.”

“Because she knows about us.”

Harry’s head jerked up again, more violently this time. “What? How?”

“She… figured it out.”

“Just from watching us?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose we haven’t been as careful as I thought, then,” Harry murmured, almost to himself.

“To be fair, I think she pays both of us more attention than everyone else at the school. She probably noticed things others haven’t.”

“Or everyone knows, and we’ve just been fooling ourselves.” He was watching Draco warily now. “Are you… does it bother you? That she knows?”

Draco chewed on his bottom lip. Did it bother him? He hadn’t really thought about it. “I don’t think it does. In some ways, I’m glad. I didn’t like thinking that I was hurting her and would have to outright reject her at some point. This makes it easier. Although now she is assuming that I’m gay, and I haven’t bothered to correct her.”

Harry raised surprised eyebrows before thinking that over. “To spare her feelings?”

“Yes.”

The brunet nodded, resting his neck against the back of the sofa again. He closed his eyes, a half-yawn forming along his jaw.

“Harry,” Draco said softly.

“Mm?”

“You’re quite tired, aren’t you?”

Harry opened his eyes again. “I want to be here. I want to be with you.”

“I never said you didn’t.” Draco gave him a gentle smile. “I’m just pointing out that you might be too tired to properly enjoy it.” Draco couldn't deny that he wanted Harry badly at that very moment. But he also had a feeling if he and Harry tried to shag now, as they had been planning to do, that Harry would fall asleep halfway through. And Draco had no interest in fucking an unconscious Harry. That would hardly be any fun, would it?

Harry opened his mouth, as if to begin protesting, but lost his motivation quickly. He sighed. “Perhaps you’re right.” He looked at Draco from under his eyelashes. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Draco said, stroking a hand across the other man’s cheek.

“Do you need me to leave?”

“Definitely not.” His hand moved down to grip Harry’s wrist. “Come to bed with me. We’ll get a good night’s sleep and see what happens in the morning.”

Harry smiled sleepily at him and allowed himself to be pulled off the sofa by the arm and led to the bedroom. Draco helped Harry undress and then undressed himself. The two men climbed into the bed, both naked and sighing happily. Draco waved his wand to extinguish the lamps and found a comfortable position on his back, and Harry immediately rolled over and curled around him. As he nuzzled into Draco’s neck Harry let out a sound of contentment, somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

“Draco,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question or a way to get the blond’s attention. It was simply an expression of happiness.

“Harry,” Draco replied, and closed his eyes.

***

Draco was floating. He wasn’t sure where; there were trees looming above him, full of lush, leafy branches, and the water was warm and pleasant, cradling him like large, soft hands.

He drifted along, watching the branches of trees pass slowly in and out of view while the pure blue sky changed not at all.

 _It’s a bit warm for February_ , he realized. The branches should have been bare and glittering with ice; the sky should have been gray. The water he was floating in should have been frozen.

He felt something tickle his thighs, and he started only a little, too relaxed to get truly worked up.

_What was that, some sort of creature under the water?_

And then something wet and soft brushed along his cock, and he realized he was naked.

_I wasn’t naked before, was I?_

But that stopped mattering when he felt more sensations on his shaft, swirling around it and eliciting spikes of throbbing pleasure from deep inside him.

“Oh,” he groaned aloud.

He looked down, but the scene jumbled and faded before he could really see what was going on, and that’s when he realized that it was a dream.

The disappointment lasted only a moment when more pleasure was drawn out of the darkness, focused in his now turgid member, and Draco managed to blink open his eyes. He was in his bedroom at Hogwarts, half covered by his duvet, and there was someone under there, a head bobbing up and down on his excited cock.

“Harry,” he moaned, and lifted the covers for a good look.

Harry paused to smile up at him, Draco’s cock bumping against his face. “Good morning.”

“Mm, good morning to you. You certainly know the best way to wake a man.”

Harry’s smile turned to a smirk. “I’ve been waiting over a week for this. And I thought your cock might have felt rather neglected as well. I wanted to take good care of it.” And with that he returned his attention to Draco’s erection, taking the shaft into his mouth and sucking with relish.

Draco threw his head back and gave into the sensations. His cock really _had_ been neglected, and no one took better care of it than Harry.

 _But don’t you want to be inside him a different way?_ a voice in his head asked. Hadn’t he been thinking about coming inside Harry’s arse all week?

But then Harry swallowed him down even further, and Draco gasped and clutched at Harry’s hair, and decided he didn’t care at the moment.

“Oh Gods, Harry. I missed you.”

It was a stark admission, one Harry’s mouth had drawn out of him. Harry hummed against the base of his shaft as he continued moving up and down, his expert tongue and lips taking Draco to new heights.

And then he stopped, pulling his mouth off the cock completely.

Draco let out a sound that was meant to be a groan of frustration but merely came out a whimper. He opened his eyes to see that Harry was now kneeling in front of him. Their eyes met.

“Can I ride you?” Harry asked. “I know you probably had something different in mind and you wanted to take your time, but…” A teasing hand danced along Draco’s abdomen and down to his erection. “I want to ride your cock so badly. Can I, please?”

Draco swallowed, many responses getting stuck in his throat, and settled for a wordless but vigorous nodding of his head. Harry clambered on top of him, straddling him so their cocks brushed together. Harry moaned softly and then reached for his wand, conjuring lube to prepare himself.

Draco didn’t realize it would so sexy, watching Harry finger himself, but it was. The brunet worked himself on his fingers with his eyes closed, letting out small huffs of breath as he probed deeper. Draco meant to take in the whole picture, but he found himself fixated by Harry’s parted lips and the tongue that kept darting out to wet them. And then Harry obviously hit his own prostate, because he released a cry of pure pleasure that made Draco have to grip the base of his cock to keep from coming, worked up as he already was.

He teased his cock and Harry’s as the other man finished preparing his opening, and this made Harry’s mouth twist in that carnal smirk Draco loved so much. Harry opened his eyes and stared down at the blond.

“Ready?” he asked hoarsely.

“When you are,” Draco said, his voice equally rough. He ran his hands down Harry’s thighs, giving them a possessive squeeze. “Ride me, Harry.”

Harry wasted no time, scooting forward enough to align his entrance with Draco’s cock. He gripped it, just enough to keep it steady, and then began to sink down.

Draco’d had women ride him like this before, and he never got tired of that heat engulfing him, inch by inch, until it was holding him completely inside. But _this_ , with such tightness as well, and the vision of Harry’s red and bobbing cock, his lean, muscled body taking Draco in, and the expression of pure bliss on his face… this was so much better.

Harry started slow, squeezing Draco with every upward thrust in a way that made him gasp and clutch at Harry’s hips. His hands played along Draco’s chest, occasionally tweaking his nipples, which only adding to the bollock-twitching pleasure already building between them.

“Faster, Harry,” Draco begged, thrusting his own hips up to encourage the brunet.

Harry smiled down at him with delight and need and did as Draco asked, bouncing faster while still letting his internal muscles do most of the work. Draco was being pulled deeper inside now, helped along by the fact that his hips were still thrusting of their own accord, with the intuitive need to be buried inside Harry.

Green eyes were closed in concentration as Harry tried to find that sweet spot inside him. On instinct Draco sat up, changing the angle slightly of how his cock entered Harry’s arse.

Harry bent enough to kiss Draco passionately, their thrusts faltering a little as their tongues collided. But then Harry found his rhythm again, as well as his pleasure center, and let out an ecstatic sob.

“ _Draco_ ,” he moaned, working the blond’s cock with his insides unlike ever before. “Oh Gods, Draco. Right there. So _good._ ”

Draco felt his climax approaching already, and focused instead on holding Harry steady with one hand and teasing his cock with the other. It wasn’t enough to make Harry come yet, but it was enough to make him keep moaning Draco’s name, and that was exactly what Draco wanted.

“Harry,” Draco groaned in return as the brunet wrapped his legs around him for leverage. “Fuck, it’s so _deep_ like this. You’re incredible. You’re fucking incredible.”

Harry shuddered and rode him harder, seeming too far gone for any kind of coherent response. Their movements became erratic as each of them reached for more pleasure.

“N-need to- to come,” Harry managed to gasp out.

Draco took Harry’s heavy, bouncing cock in hand and began to pump. It only took three strokes and then Harry was stilling on top of him, squeezing around him hard enough that it only took one small thrust of his own hips to trigger Draco’s orgasm as well. Cum painted Draco’s chest and stomach as he felt himself pulse inside Harry, emptying a week’s worth of anticipation and pleasure into that supple arse.

Harry went boneless atop him, and Draco rolled them both over while still inside so he was on top. He wasn’t quite finished yet, and he thrust deeply and slowly a few more times into Harry, getting all the pleasure he could, wringing out every last drop. Though worn out, Harry still lifted his arms and wrapped them around Draco, holding him as the blond trembled and moaned, his face pressed against Harry’s sweaty neck.

Finally spent, Draco collapsed, slipping out of Harry as gravity pressed their bodies together. They lay that way, panting, for long minutes, until both of their heart rates had settled. Draco kept thinking about moving but had a hard time mustering the wherewithal. Harry’s arms were still wrapped around his back and the brunet smelled like sex and musk and… _himself_ in the best possible way. Draco was finding that he was quite content where he was.

When Harry shifted under him Draco finally decided to at least prop himself up on his elbows and get a good look at the thoroughly ravished man.

“Worth the wait?” he asked, giving Harry a soft kiss.

“Yes, definitely,” Harry replied, looking up at Draco with eyes still glazed from pleasure. “But I have no interest in waiting that long again.”

“Nor do I,” Draco agreed. “But it seems some weeks it may be unavoidable. Things can get busy around here.”

“It comes in bursts, I find.” Harry shifted again, and Draco slid to the side so he was only half lying on Harry. “Mid-terms, finals, and some events in between. Some weeks will be very busy. But that’s exactly why I think we should take advantage of the times that aren’t.”

“Sure,” said Draco. “Of course.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, and Draco wondered if that was the end of the conversation. But then Harry turned his face to Draco and their eyes met, only a few inches apart.

“I think we should…” He shifted again. “I think we should just agree that any night that neither of us have patrol we should plan to spend together. That way when we do end up with a bit of a dry spell when things get busy, it won’t seem so bad.”

Draco stared at him. “All right,” he said finally. “But I can’t spend every night having sex. I don’t have that kind of stamina, for one thing. And for another I do have… you know, marking and such to get done on a regular basis.”

“Yes, but there’s no reason we can’t mark together, or whatever else we have to do. And then afterward we can go to bed and do whatever we feel like. If we want to fuck, we fuck, and if we’re tired and we just want to sleep, we do that.”

Draco stared some more, unwilling to say aloud what he was thinking. _This doesn’t sound like lessons anymore. It sounds like a relationship._

But he didn’t say that, because Harry was skittish when it came to things like this, and Draco didn’t want to scare him off. Especially when he knew better, when he knew that this was about satisfying their current needs rather than building something for the long term.

Neither of them were looking for long-term. Draco wanted to end up with a woman, and Harry wanted… well, Draco wasn’t entirely sure what Harry wanted. To be free, he supposed, unencumbered. Harry wanted room to do whatever pleased him.

So this wouldn’t be a relationship. But, Draco thought, it could certainly _look_ like one, if they wanted it to. If that was what made them happy for right now, it could look however they wanted it to look.

“I think that would be fine,” he said. “So long as it doesn’t make me fall behind on my marking and other duties. If it does, we’ll have to reassess.”

“Of course,” said Harry.

“Does that mean I get to see you tonight as well?” Draco asked, kissing the brunet’s shoulder lightly.

“I don’t see why not. I’m on duty for lunch and dinner today, but after eight I’m free.”

“Perfect,” said Draco, his fingers now teasing along Harry’s stomach. “Because I can already tell I’m going to want you again soon. The sooner the better.”

Harry hummed happily and pulled Draco fully on top of him again. Ankles hooked around Draco’s calves, holding him in place.

“In that case, maybe we need a quickie right now, before I have to go and get cleaned up and ready for my day. You know, just in case.”

Draco smirked down at him. “Or,” he said, “we kill two pixies with one spell and just shower here, together.”

Harry’s grin widened. “Shower sex? That wasn’t in my lesson plan for today.”

Draco shrugged atop him. “At this point, does it matter?” Draco knew what he was risking, questioning this, the very nature of their arrangement. But Harry wanted them to spend more time together, and it was foolish to think that they would all be “lessons.” Maybe it was time they accepted that the educational part of this had nearly run its course, and this was now about their mutual pleasure more than anything.

And with the way Harry’s tongue was now tracing the shell of his ear, and the way those calloused hands roamed freely over his skin, and the way that hard body felt pressed against him, Draco was thinking that was really just fine with him.

After all, if he was honest with himself, their encounters had stopped feeling like lessons a long time ago.


	12. Lesson 12: Playing with Toys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Almost Christmas! This shamelessly smutty chapter is your present from me. I hope you like it <3

“Can I ask you something…?” Draco trailed off, aware that the incomplete question would pique Harry’s curiosity.

The brunet turned on his side, his soft cock bumping against Draco’s hip. They’d already fucked, and hard, and it should have been time for them to go to sleep. But Draco’d had a thought, and he couldn’t seem to get it out of his head.

“Something…” Harry prompted.

“Personal,” Draco finished. “Something you might not expect me to ask.”

He felt Harry shift next to him. “All right.”

Draco chewed on his lip a moment, wondering if he was really going to ask what he wanted to ask.

“Have you ever… had a threesome?”

He could sense Harry’s surprise more than see it. It was too dark to really make out the features of Harry’s face.

“Yes,” the brunet answered finally. “Twice.”

“Oh.” Draco realized he had actually been expecting Harry to answer in the negative, though he couldn’t fathom why. “What was it like?”

There was a moment of considering silence. “Disappointing. Each time in its own way.”

“How so?”

“Well, the first one...” He heard Harry chuckle sardonically. “The first one was, if you can believe it, with a man and a woman.”

Draco didn’t answer right away, too shocked to speak. Harry waited.

“I thought you said you’ve never slept with a woman.”

“I did say that. Because she’s the only woman who I’ve ever come close to sleeping with, but even so I don’t think it really counts.”

“All right, now I’m really curious.”

He heard Harry chuckle again. “It was a Muggle bloke named Simon who I was dating at the time. He was in an open marriage with his wife Celia. Since Simon was bisexual they liked to bring in, you know, a third, sometimes. Another bloke, to spice things up. And they invited me.”

“And you agreed, even though you knew you were gay?”

“I was young, only nineteen. I had only been out a few months. This is when I was still an Auror. My schedule was insane, and I didn’t have that much experience dating yet. At that point I was pretty much open to whatever opportunities fell in my lap.” Draco felt the bed rock a bit as Harry shifted. “Simon was thirty-six. I mean, still really fit, but… you know, older than me. Almost twice my age. He had a lot of experience. He taught me a lot of what I know about sex.”

Draco thought about that. “So you figured the threesome would just be another learning experience?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I was _nineteen_ and horny as hell. I was in the middle of my sexual awakening. I wanted to try _everything._ I figured I could get it up and keep it up, even with a woman. I figured it wouldn’t be all that different, really. I _had_ dated girls. It wasn’t like I didn’t think women were beautiful. So…”

“So you tried it. And it wasn’t good?”

“It was a disaster. It was actually really…” Harry scratched his chest back and forth with blunt fingernails for a moment. “It was pretty humiliating, at least at the time.”

“Oh.” Draco was starting to worry that he shouldn’t have brought it up.

“I just couldn’t perform, in the end,” Harry admitted matter-of-factly. “The kissing was all right, you know, as we worked our way up to it. And Celia was lovely. At first I thought it would be all right. Simon wanted me to play with her breasts a bit and I didn’t have a problem with that. It was actually sort of fascinating, not what I was used to. But looking back on I can see that I was more fascinated than aroused. It all felt a bit clinical, although I wasn’t thinking about it in those terms at the time. I just wanted to… I don’t know. I just wanted to please Simon, I suppose.”

Draco listened intently, trying to discern what emotion lay under Harry’s words as he told this story. He had a feeling that the relationship with this Simon bloke had been more than the casual things Harry had with his lovers now. It sounded much more formative and complicated.

“It all went to hell after that, though, because Simon wanted me to go down on her. And I…” Draco caught a flash of Harry’s white teeth the dark, a nervous flit of a smile glinting in the moonlight. “Well, frankly, I looked at her and thought to myself… ‘I’d pretty much rather do anything in the world other than go down on her right now.’” Draco laughed and Harry copied him. “I mean really. In that moment I thought I would have rather endured another head-to-head with a dragon, or a Potions lesson with Snape, or a duel with Voldemort himself than have to put my mouth on a vagina.”

He had to pause then, because Draco had a bit of a laughing fit at that, and needed some time to get himself under control. Harry sounded much more cheerful at the prospect of sharing all this when he could finally continue.

“It was a revelation really, or perhaps simply confirmation of what I knew deep down but wasn’t yet ready to fully embrace: I was really and truly gay. There was no tiny sliver of heterosexuality in me. I was sure of it, in that moment. The problem was, it was a rather inconvenient time to have such a revelation, with Simon and Celia right there, waiting for me to pleasure her.”

Draco shook his head. He couldn’t even imagine. “So what did you do?”

“What could I do? I had to walk away. I wasn’t going to… I knew to try and force myself to have sex with a woman… I mean, what was the point? Of course, I was nineteen and still a bit awkward, so I didn’t handle it all that well. I think I said something like, 'Sorry. I just really only like cock, turns out.’ And then I took off. Needless to say that was the end of my relationship with Simon.”

Draco giggled some more before sobering up. “Still, it might have been an important lesson for you, even if it was… embarrassing.”

“I think you’re right,” agreed Harry. “Because a lot of things did change after that. It was only a few months later that I realized I wasn’t happy in my job and decided to switch careers. And after that I let myself fully embrace being gay. I owned it in a way I hadn’t before. Anyway, that was the first time, if it even counts as one. I'm not sure it does. Either way, it was not good.”

“So I assume the second time was with two men, then?”

“Of course. I wasn’t about to make that same mistake again.”

“But it still wasn’t good.”

“No, it really wasn’t. And frankly it surprised me at the time.”

"Why did it surprise you?"

He felt Harry shrug. "I don't know. I suppose I thought, you know, two is better than one?"

“Hm. I've always thought three might make it awkward. Or, like, someone would inevitably end up feeling left out or something. Or I would just be really self-conscious."

Harry was silent a moment. “I suppose it was some of that, but... The situation... So I was seeing these two wizards, Caleb and Daniel. One was a Ravenclaw our year and one was…” He stopped to think. “I think Daniel was two years above me in Gryffindor. We never knew each other in our school days, and the two of them didn’t know each other. But then, for my twenty-second birthday, Hermione and Ron threw this party for me and invited both of them. So they met and hit it off, then figured out they were both dating me. So it became this sort of… polyamorous situation, you could say, where we were all involved with each other. So naturally the topic came up of all three of us sleeping together at the same time.”

“Makes sense,” said Draco, “if you were all three sleeping with each other already.”

“Exactly. That was our thinking. So we tried it. But… I have to tell you, it’s just… _different._ One-on-one, you know where to put your focus. Your partner and their pleasure are what matter. But with two of them… I just couldn’t get into it. I was too focused on if each of them were having a good time and making sure that neither of them was left out, like you said and I… well, I suppose I ended up making myself a bit left out, in the end. I got off and everything but I just felt… weird.”

“Yeah.” Draco could see how that would be true, especially with Harry being who he was. He was such a generous, attentive lover. Having two partners at the same time would stretch him too thin.

“The thing was, Caleb and Daniel both really liked it. So they kept at it. With other blokes I mean. I told them after that first time that threesomes really weren’t for me. They were quite nice about it. Decent blokes, they were. But they liked having a third. I kept dating them, but they sort of became… really _about_ each other, after a while, if that makes sense. They ended up being primary partners and only brought in secondary partners on occasion. They even moved in together, eventually. That’s when I decided it was about time for me to move on, and I stopped seeing both of them. It had fizzled out anyway.”

“They fell in love?”

Harry thought that over. “Yeah. I suppose they did.”

Both of them were quiet for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts.

“So,” Harry said finally. “Those were my quite disappointing experiences with threesomes. But you haven’t mentioned why you brought it up.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say. “I suppose I was just… curious.”

“Do you want to try one? Was that what you were asking? Because if… well…” Harry cleared his throat. “Obviously if you want to try it, you should, but I’ll be honest. I’m not really interested in that. I wouldn’t like to bring in a third with you. I really don’t think… well… I know myself well enough to know I wouldn’t like it.”

Draco considered all that Harry had just shared. “I honestly think my experience would be similar to yours, if I tried it. So I don’t think I particularly want to.” Maybe he was imagining it, but he thought he felt Harry’s body relax a bit next to him when he said that. “I only brought it up because…” He huffed a nervous laugh. “I had this… thought, and it sort of…”

Harry waited for him to go on, then prompted him with a “Yes…?”

“All right, well…” Draco realized he was grinning widely, almost in disbelief. “So, I was thinking about threesomes, with three men together, mostly because I was thinking about how one of the men… could be… you know, in the middle…” He trailed off, wondering if Harry would get it. But the brunet didn’t say anything. “I was thinking about how one of the men could potentially fuck someone and get fucked at the same time. And that… intrigued me.”

Harry hummed knowingly then. “Right,” he said. “Yes, it’s an intriguing idea. Get your prostate hammered and your cock squeezed at the same time.”

“I mean, I honestly don’t know if the mechanics even work like that,” Draco said, realizing he was babbling a bit. “Maybe it’s one of those things that sounds better in theory than it is in practice. But I was just… well, like I said, I was intrigued.”

Harry ran a hand lightly up and down Draco’s abdomen. “I wouldn’t know about the actual mechanics of doing it with two other men, as I’ve never done that before. But there are ways to experience something similar with just one partner and the right toys.”

“Toys?”

“Namely a dildo or a vibrator, something designed to massage the prostate. You can charm them to fuck you just like someone’s cock, if you want. Anyway, you can use that while fucking your partner. I’ve done it before. It’s really intense, but also really good.”

“Oh,” Draco said, trying to picture that in his mind.

“You might enjoy it quite a bit. Of course, it would be like… you know, getting fucked. You were unsure if you wanted to try that, last time we talked about it.” Harry’s tone was cautious.

“I know,” said Draco. “But I guess I’m… rethinking that. I mean, the fingering and stuff has been really good so…” His face felt a bit hot. This was still hard to talk about so openly, sometimes, though he was getting better at it. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m ready to explore having other things inside me.”

Harry continued to play along Draco’s stomach with his fingers, sending delicious shivers across the blond’s skin as he waited for a response. “I would really like that,” Harry admitted finally, his voice hoarse. “The thought of you with a vibrator inside you really turns me on.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, swallowing. “Me too.”

“We can start small, you know. I can find something… Let me do some research, and then I can order something that would work, and we can try it out.”

“Yeah, all right. Thanks.”

Harry chuckled at that and dipped closer to nibble on Draco’s earlobe. “My pleasure,” he said teasingly. “Yours too, hopefully.”

Draco laughed lightly, tilting his head to give Harry better access to the most sensitive parts of his neck and jaw. “I have no doubt,” he said breathlessly, smiling into the dark.

***

“Steady,” Draco instructed softly, aware of Raisie McNeal’s shaking hands as she added liquefied Asphodel to the cauldron simmering in front of them. “You want to do it slowly, remember? Only a milliliter or so at a time, paying attention to the changes you see.”

“I know, Professor,” she said, watching her own moves carefully, her mouth twisted in concentration. “I’m just a bit nervous, I suppose. I really want this to work.”

“I understand,” Draco replied. “But not everything you try will. That’s why we experiment. We can’t get too attached to the outcome, lest we make a mistake, or worse, let our hopes and biases distort the data.”

Her eyes flickered to him a moment. “That’s true,” she said.

“The theory is sound,” Draco assured her. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll adjust the method and go from there, yes?”

She nodded, just the smallest jerk of a movement, and added another few drops of Asphodel to the cauldron.

“What do you see?” Draco asked her.

“The color is starting to change. It’s bluer than before. More blue than gray, now.”

“Good. What does that tell you?”

“That the Asphodel is reacting with the poison.”

“In what way?”

“Hopefully rendering it inert.”

“Hopefully?”

She glanced at him again. “Well, we’ll have to test it to be sure, won’t we?”

Draco smiled. “Yes.” He watched her pour in some more. “Careful,” he said. “Not too much.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“How will you know when you’ve added enough?”

McNeal paused, not seeming to have an answer.

“Think about it,” Draco encouraged, not wanting to give it away just yet. “Think about what you know is changing.”

“The color,” she said, almost to herself. “It started gray and is moving into blue, so… I will have added enough when all the gray is gone? Because that means there is no active poison left?”

“Very good,” Draco said, and his student looked pleased.

They were silent as the young Gryffindor added more liquid, drop by drop.

“Is it ready?” she asked finally, staring into the cauldron. “Is that enough?”

“You tell me,” Draco said, looking at the now royal blue liquid hissing away inside. “It’s your experiment.”

She cast him another nervous glance, huffed a breath, and said, her back straightening. “I think it’s enough.”

Draco tried not to grin too widely. She had very good intuition indeed. “What’s next, then?” he asked her.

“It has to settle,” she said, waving her wand and muttering the spell to extinguish the flame underneath. “We should be able to test it in about twenty minutes.

“All right. I brought some rats for us to try it on,” he pointed to the cage behind him, where a couple of white rats were scurrying around. “Don’t worry, they’ve been transfigured from doorknobs, so they aren’t really alive. But the results would be the same as if we were using a real rat, since, for now, their anatomy is the same.”

She sighed. “That’s good. I always wondered…” She didn’t complete the thought, her eyes flickering to something else on Draco’s desk. The blond turned his head to follow her gaze.

The dragon on his desk was moving. He felt his stomach flip, as he always did when he received a message from Harry. But it wouldn’t do to answer the message now. He’d have to wait until McNeal had gone.

“I like that dragon,” McNeal commented. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. Where did you get it?”

“A friend made it for me, as a gift,” he said.

“That’s very nice. Thoughtful.” She watched it some more. “It’s a charm that makes it do that, I suppose. Move like that, I mean.”

“Yes,” Draco replied vaguely.

“It’s quite realistic. A good bit of magic, that. You have a clever friend.”

“Yes, he is quite clever,” Draco agreed.

“It’s usually still, though, when it’s sitting on your desk during class. What makes it move, then?”

“Hm?” Draco asked, pretending to not understand the question.

“Well, those kinds of charms need a trigger, don’t they? There must be something that activates it.”

Draco resisted the urge to snort in amusement and exasperation. He liked McNeal’s curiosity; it would make her a great Potions master someday. But right now it was inconvenient.

“No, it’s random,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

She stared at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to call him out on the lie. But then she seemed to remember it was a professor she was asking personal questions to, and her gaze dropped back to the cauldron. “I should take notes on this, I suppose, shouldn’t I?”

“That’s always wise,” Draco agreed.

She nodded and set to work, looking over her current notes and adding new ones. Draco went around to the other side of his desk to mark more essays, doing his best to ignore the paper dragon as it reared back insistently over and over again.

Eventually the potion had settled and was ready to be tested. Draco held the rat steady with two hands and talked McNeal through how to give it the proper dosage. Then they waited, both watching the clock on Draco’s classroom wall. Nothing happened.

After a full sixty seconds had passed, McNeal gave an excited squeak. “It worked!” she said. “The poison was rendered inert!”

“Yes. It was. The theory holds. But let’s see what happens with more complex poisons.”

“Which one do you think we should try next?”

Draco arched a brow at her. “That’s up to you, remember?”

“Right,” she breathed. “I’m not used to that.”

“This is NEWT level work, which is a lot more independent, true.”

He saw McNeal trying to suppress a self-satisfied smile. “I’ll just do some research, then. And I’ll let you know when I’ve picked the next poison.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Draco agreed.

She took her leave then, practically bouncing as she walked out of the classroom, still flushed from her success. Draco watched her go with an affectionate shake of his head then turned back to the dragon, now quite keen to read what Harry had written to him.

 _It’s arrived,_ the message read. _Shall we test it soon?_

Draco exhaled a shaky breath, nervous and excited all at once. Harry had ordered something special for him, as he had promised. And now it was time to use it. Was he ready?

 _Tonight,_ he wrote back. _I’ll come to yours at ten._

The reply was quick.

_10 o’clock. I can’t wait._

***

“You’re nervous,” Harry said against his neck.

Draco sighed and tried to relax. “A bit.”

Harry sucked on Draco’s pulse point, one of his favorite spots, making Draco arch into him automatically. “There’s no need to be,” he said. “As with everything else, if you don’t like it, we’ll stop. Simple as that.”

“I _want_ to like it,” Draco said, as though it were a confession. He couldn’t convey just how much he wanted to like it. He couldn’t convey how afraid he was that he wouldn’t.

“Well, I would hope so.” Harry worked his way to Draco’s mouth and kissed him languidly and sensually for a minute or two, making Draco almost forget why they were there in the first place. But the hand massaging his naked hip and arse brought it back in full force. He pulled away.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, aware that his voice sounded a bit small.

Harry gazed down at him softly. “You will feel stretched, much like how it is when I put more than one finger inside you, only more so. There may be a bit of a burning sensation at first. But then you’ll adjust, and it will feel good. I’ll make sure of it.”

Draco stared up at him, absorbing that. He appreciated the honesty. It made him feel better, more prepared.

Harry was always very good at that.

“All right,” he said, making sure he fully understood. Knowledge helped him, it seemed. “So you’ll stretch me, then put it inside me, and then activate it.”

“That’s right. It will vibrate. Which should feel very good. And then, if and when you’re ready, I’ll charm it to move in and out of you. Which should feel even better.”

“And then I’ll fuck you.”

“If you like.” Harry kissed him with little soft pecks on his lips and cheek. “Or we can just focus on you and your pleasure, so you can get used to the feeling. Or we can suck each other off, or any number of things. Whatever you like.”

Draco swallowed and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah.”

Harry lifted himself further up on his elbows, jostling Draco a little on the bed. A hand reached up to cradle Draco’s head as Harry tilted the blond’s gaze to look directly at him.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” the brunet said.

Draco stared into green irises and knew he didn’t want to turn away now. “If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t,” he said.

He saw Harry’s brow furrow in confusion, trying to work out what he was saying.

“But because it’s you, I want to.”

He hoped Harry would understand what he meant by that.

_You’re the only one I trust enough for this._

“Draco…”

But Draco craned his neck and captured Harry’s mouth with his, cutting off what the brunet was planning to say next. “I want it,” he murmured. “I want you to do it.”

Harry moaned, and they kissed and kissed, and Draco let himself surrender to it.

It would be all right. He was with Harry, and it would be all right.

A lubed finger breached his arse, making Draco gasp. But he breathed through it, focusing instead on the plump lower lip between his teeth. He nibbled and suckled at it, and all the while Harry went deeper into him, moving, exploring.

Draco huffed in pleasure when Harry brushed his prostate, and Harry smiled against his cheek.

“Feel good?” he asked.

“Yes,” Draco replied.

“A second finger, then?”

“Yes.” This Draco knew he could handle. He’d lost track of how many times Harry’d had two fingers inside him. Three was another matter. That, he knew from only limited experience, could get rather uncomfortable.

 _Don’t worry about that now_ , he told himself. _One step at a time._

Two fingers were pumping in and out of him now, occasionally brushing and teasing his sweet spot, and Draco moaned some more, remembering the way Harry liked to grind on Draco’s fingers sometimes. The images it conjured of Harry, so wanton, so unashamed, made Draco’s cock harden further against Harry’s hip. He wrapped his legs around the back of Harry’s thighs, getting purchase so he could ride Harry’s fingers and push them deeper into him. Harry groaned in appreciation.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” he asked breathlessly. “Gods. You are so fucking sexy. You feel so good.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Draco encouraged. “So good.” This was what he needed. He needed to lose himself completely. He needed to tip over into that other place, the place where his insecurities didn’t plague him, where he could simply take and feel and _be._

Harry was rutting against him, and they moved together in sync, naked, almost like they were already fucking. It made Draco feel high and reckless, like he could do anything.

“Harry,” he groaned. “Please. Another. I’m ready.”

Harry seemed to understand, and to trust Draco to know himself, because before the blond knew it there was a third finger seeking entrance. It slipped inside slowly, stretching him, making him feel so full it hurt a little.

“Breathe, baby,” Harry said in his ear. “Just breathe for me. That’s it.”

It was all right. He relaxed. He knew this sensation. It wasn’t unbearable, only strange. But it _could_ be good. He truly believed it could be that.

 _And it would be even better if I welcomed it, embraced it._ The realization struck him suddenly, and he relaxed even more. He wanted to let Harry all the way inside. He’d never wanted it so much, so purely, before.

“Yes, Draco. That’s it,” Harry encouraged as Draco pulled him in further. “Just like that. Fuck, you’re so good. Just perfect.”

The praise was exactly what he needed in that moment, and he sought Harry’s mouth again, showing his appreciation with a clever, hungry tongue. Harry responded enthusiastically, the massaging of his fingers inside Draco mirrored by the activity of his mouth.

It felt like hours that they moved together this way, blissful, drifting hours. Only the incremental stretching and loosening that Draco could feel happening inside him marked any true passage of time at all. This subtle change was the only thing grounding him in the moment, reminding him they were heading somewhere new.

But now, he welcomed it.

“I think you’re ready,” Harry whispered into his mouth. “Do you feel ready?”

Some part of him, even now, wanted to tense and resist. But he’d placated that part of him, drugged it with breath, and pleasure, and _Harry_ , and now its attempts to keep this from him, this experience, were half-hearted at best.

“I’m ready,” he said.

Harry lifted himself off Draco slowly, still watching him. His expression was relaxed and his smile encouraging, but Draco could see the assessment in his eyes as he looked Draco over. He was making sure. He was looking out.

But he was obviously satisfied with what he saw, because he turned away, enough to reach for the toy that had been waiting patiently on the bedside table.

It was long and blue, slimmer than the average cock would be if it were hard. Draco had looked at it wide-eyed when Harry first showed it to him, then tried to control his reaction. But Harry had seen. Harry had known what a big step this was.

Now Draco looked at it calmly, a small pulse of anticipation clenching and unclenching in his gut. It wasn’t thicker than three fingers. Not really. He could do this. In a sense, he already had.

“Turn over,” Harry instructed gently. “In fact, hands and knees will be easiest.”

Draco rolled over and lifted himself into position. He was facing the headboard now, away from Harry, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the way the brunet was kneeling behind him, as naked as he was. He grabbed the headboard for support as one of Harry’s hands ran lovingly down his back and over his arse, gripping and massaging the soft, pale flesh.

Harry scooted closer and Draco released a shaky breath as he realized that the thing bumping softly against his inner thigh was Harry’s erect cock. He heard a soft moan behind him as the erection made contact with Draco’s hanging sac. He looked over his shoulder to find the Gryffindor staring at Draco’s arse in blatant lust. His cock throbbed at the sight, leaking precum onto the sheets below.

He had no doubts, in that moment, about what Harry was thinking.

_He wants to fuck me. He wants to put that fat cock inside me and fuck me until he fills me with cum._

He was shocked at himself, how arousing he found that idea. He never thought he would. But there was a part of him, in that moment, that wanted Harry to just go ahead and do it.

But then he saw Harry lift the toy and squeeze a fat line of gel lubricant from tip to end, and Draco came back to his senses, enough to at least remember what they were here for.

_One step at a time._

“Keep hold of the headboard,” Harry said. “That’s a good brace.” He rubbed one of the globes of Draco’s arse again. “We’ll go slowly. Just keep breathing”

Draco nodded and tightened his grip on the wood under his hands. As the tip of the toy touched his entrance he felt his insides spasm, but he did as Harry said and let out a long, smooth breath. The tip pushed inside, the lube squelching and that first ring of muscle wrapping around the head like a set of lips. Draco breathed again, and felt himself being filled another inch.

He smiled. It didn’t hurt. Harry had prepared him well.

Another inch. He heard a moan behind him and he turned to look again. Harry was watching the slow intrusion of the toy in awe.

“How does it look?” Draco asked, his tone almost teasing.

Harry gasped and met his eyes. “What?”

“You said you thought it would turn you on, seeing this. So, is it as good as you imagined?”

Harry gave him a reverential smile. “Better.”

Draco grinned. “Good. More, then.”

The vibrator slid in another inch. Easy, welcome, and actually rather… pleasurable. Draco moaned, partially for himself and partially for Harry.

“More, Harry. Please.”

“Fuck,” he heard Harry say under his breath. “Fuck. Look at you.”

“Am I taking it well, Harry?” Draco asked demurely, knowing his mouth was twisting in a sly smile.

“So well,” Harry breathed.

Draco looked over his shoulder again. “Do I look so good like this, with a toy in my arse where your cock could be?”

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry groaned, grabbing his own erection. He pumped it once, a long slow stroke, and Draco’s arse squeezed around the toy in excitement. He loved that he had this effect on Harry. It made him feel powerful, even though he was the one being penetrated.

The toy was nearly all the way inside him. He felt full and stretched, like Harry said he would, but it felt good. It was nudging the sensitive bundle of his prostate, enough to make him shake and arch.

_Just one more inch._

Harry pushed it in just that little bit more, and Draco cried out, letting Harry know he’d found it. “Oh, _Gods_ , yes. Right there.”

Harry pulled it out, just a little bit, and pushed it back in again.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” said Draco. “Harder.” He wanted that spot absolutely hammered. He knew, instinctively, that it would feel good.

Harry chuckled, seeming to have regained some of his composure. “Not yet, baby. Let’s feel this first.”

A brief second, a wave of Harry’s wand, and the toy started to vibrate. And it was nothing like Draco had ever felt before. It reverberated through him; it sent the sweet pleasure from his prostate zipping through every nerve, all the way to his fingertips.

He let go of the headboard, collapsing onto the bed with an obscene moan. It was almost too much and yet he simply wanted more. He writhed and panted, trying to move it inside him, trying to get some friction for his cock, which was now so achingly hard he thought he might be able to come from this alone. If he could just get that little bit _more_.

“Oh, Gods, oh, Gods,” he whimpered. “ _Fuck_. Fuck, yes… _Oh._ ”

 “That’s right, Draco,” he heard Harry say behind him, through all his panting and whimpering. “Feel it.”

“ _Harry._ ”

“What do you want, Draco?” The voice was suddenly close to his ear, Harry’s warm breath ticking the back of his jaw. “Shall I make it fuck you? Shall I suck you until you come? What do you want?”

Draco blinked through the haze of pleasure, trying to process Harry’s questions. He found, if he tried hard enough, he could focus, and the pleasure didn’t fully control all of his attention.

What did he want?

But he already knew. He wanted the thing he had been fantasizing about that had created this scenario in the first place.

“I want to fuck you.”

Harry kissed his neck. “For that to happen, I need to be prepared. Can you wait that long?”

“Yes.” He knew it would be worth it. “Just don’t have the thing fuck me yet. Leave it just like that.”

“All right.”

“And get under me.”

“Draco, I can prepare myself.”

Draco turned his head to meet his lover’s eyes. “I want to. Get under me.”

Though his voice was rather breathy, it apparently still held enough command for Harry not to argue. He moved around Draco and laid down on his back, and Draco lifted himself onto his knees to make room for him.

They stared at each other for a moment, the only sound in the room the steady hum of the vibrator that was still inside Draco. He was getting used to it now, enough that he trusted he wouldn’t immediately come upon entering Harry. Still, this was going to be short and intense, he could already tell, and he wanted to make sure Harry was as worked up as he was.

He gave Harry’s erection (which was, he was pleased to see, nearly as hard as his own) a couple of light strokes, and then his mouth descended. Harry tossed his head back with a cry of pleasure and surprise as Draco laved at the long shaft before taking as much as he could into his mouth. He developed a rhythm, enough that Harry was starting to roll his body in time with Draco’s movements, and that’s when Draco pulled off.

Harry’s growl turned into a groan as Draco’s mouth went lower, to his bollocks, sucking them gently one at a time. And then Draco spread Harry’s legs wider and lifted them enough to make his pretty pink entrance visible. Harry mewled in anticipation, making Draco grin. Did he know what was coming? Draco had never done this before, but he was willing to do anything required to have Harry begging for his cock and ready to come.

After casting a quick cleansing charm for good measure, Draco lowered his lips, his tongue flicking out to delicately lick at Harry’s rosebud. Harry gasped. Draco increased the pressure, finding the experience not unpleasant. Harry’s natural musk filled his nostrils, an intoxicating scent. He circled the entrance with his tongue, listening all the while for Harry’s reaction.

“Draco,” Harry encouraged, all desperate and breathy. Spurred on, Draco dipped his tongue inside, eliciting a needy moan from the brunet.

Draco adjusted his body on the bed, making the vibrator shift slightly inside him. He groaned at the pleasant sensation and knew Harry could feel the reverb of that groan on his skin. He plunged his tongue deeper, aware of Harry starting to writhe against him as he was being tongue-fucked by Draco for the first time.

Gods, but this was so _hot_ , so empowering, so intimate. He took a moment to marvel at how far he had come, these past months with Harry. He never knew it could be like this.

He pulled away. He was so achingly hard, and, by the looks of it, so was Harry. He plunged two fingers inside the brunet and began to scissor, finding that Harry was already relaxed and stretching easily.

“Just fuck me,” said Harry. “Sweet Merlin, Draco, just… _please_. Just fuck me.”

Draco didn’t need telling twice. Scooting closer he leaned down over Harry for one more passionate, lust-fueled kiss before lining himself up with Harry’s entrance and pressing forward.

Their collective groans were enough to rattle the pictures on the walls, they were so deep and so loud. As Draco felt Harry’s glorious heat envelop him he was also aware of the way his own arse was clenching down on the vibrator, pulling it deeper into him. He huffed and panted, trying to get the intense pleasure under control. Harry wasn’t helping, what with the way he was squeezing around Draco as if trying to unman him.

Draco, now buried in Harry to the hilt, looked down at the other man. “Go easy on me, baby,” he said, trying out Harry’s usual little pet name. “Or this is going to end much too quickly. You feel far too good.”

Harry grinned. “Take it slow, love,” he said softly.

Draco’s heart stuttered. That was new. But he did not have the time or the brain cells to examine it now. Right now he needed satisfaction. And so he pulled out, slowly, and then sank back in, moaning all the while. The pleasure was intense, coming from two directions, and it was dizzyingly, disorientingly good.

But he didn’t want to lose himself, not completely. Because Harry was underneath him, and Harry needed satisfaction too. So he thrust in again, a little faster this time, and aimed for Harry’s prostate. After another few thrusts he found it, and Harry gripped Draco’s biceps hard. The nails digging into his flesh grounded him, and Draco thrust again, and again, and again, hitting that spot over and over. Harry had yet to lose all sense, but as Draco looked into his eyes he saw the pleasure, the impending climax, building in them.

“Draco,” Harry gasped.

“Harry,” Draco replied.

“Draco.”

“ _Harry._ ”

“Draco?”

It took a moment for the blond to realize that Harry wasn’t just moaning his name, and actually wanted to ask something.

“Harry?” he asked, not letting up in his rhythm.

“Draco, do you – oh, _fuck_ – “ Harry interrupted his own thought as his prostate was hammered again. “Oh, fuck, oh, Draco, fuck. Do you… _Gods_ … do you want…?” Draco’s mouth twisted in a smirk and he took pity on the brunet, gentling his thrusts momentarily. “Do you want that – that toy to – to fuck you?” Harry managed finally. “I can make it fuck you.”

 _Oh._ Draco had totally forgotten about that bit. The vibration alone had been intense enough to drive it from his mind. He had forgotten he could have even more, if he wanted.

Could he handle it? Would it be too much? He slammed into Harry, just to hear him mewl and whimper, and decided that yes, hell yes, he wanted it. He wanted the full experience.

“Yes,” he said, giving Harry a sloppy kiss. “Make it fuck me, Harry. Please. Make it fuck me hard while I fuck _you_.”

Harry groped for his wand, bearing up against Draco’s unrelenting thrusts, and cast the charm with a soft murmur. The toy thrust into Draco’s arse that extra inch, then pulled out and thrust back in, hitting him in the exact right spot. Stars burst before his eyes.

Draco stilled inside Harry for a beat or two, unable to help it.

_Sweet fucking Merlin._

“Draco?”

The blond opened his eyes and stared down at the Gryffindor, who was now flushed and ravished and beautiful. Another powerful hit from the vibrator made him groan, but he didn’t break eye contact.

“Is it good?” Harry asked.

Draco kissed him again. “So fucking good.”

Harry smiled. “Good.”

“ _You_ are fucking good,” Draco told him. “Fucking brilliant. Fucking beautiful.”

“Fuck me.”

So Draco did. And this time he didn’t worry that he was losing himself. He just let himself go, let himself be buried in Harry and be pounded from behind and let the sensations surround him and consume him and become him, so much so that when he finally came it was a shock, a sudden, unbearable, searing peak of pleasure followed by an endless, throbbing release.

He had meant to say Harry’s name when he came, because he knew Harry always liked that. But it came on so hard and sudden that he barely had breath to gasp. So he simply groaned incoherently and emptied himself into Harry, burying himself as deep as he could. And when he gained some semblance of consciousness he lifted himself, enough to make sure that Harry could come as well. He was again shocked to find that Harry already had, messily and profusely onto his own abdomen, and as Draco looked down at that in awe he realized he himself was _still_ coming, his small thrusts making him pulse more cum into Harry’s eager channel.

“Fucking hell,” he said as his climax finally started to wane.

“Yeah,” his lover agreed.

They both laughed, disbelieving, elated giggles that came from deep in their stomachs. Draco, still trying to catch his breath, slid out and off of Harry, nearly crushing Harry’s wand as he found a new spot for himself on the bed. But he picked up the wand just in time and, finding his magic surprisingly compatible with it, used it to clean them both off and cast _Finite_ on the vibrator still working away inside him. He had hardly noticed it at first, such was the strength of his orgasm, but now he was feeling a bit sore. He extracted it delicately, cleaned it off, and placed it on the bedside table.

“Fun with toys,” said Harry as Draco turned back to him.

“Indeed. I’d love to see you with a vibrator in your arse sometime.”

“Mm. I would definitely be open to that,” Harry said. He grinned. “Does that mean _I_ get to fuck _you_ with it in this time?”

Draco could tell that Harry was teasing, based on his tone, but he shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe. Who knows?”

Harry stared at him a moment. Then he leaned in for a kiss. “One step at a time,” he said after he pulled away.

“Yes,” Draco agreed.

Still, as Harry extinguished the lamps and settled them comfortably wrapped around each other, Draco couldn’t help but wonder…

It appeared he liked being fucked. It had been intense, and wonderful, and a little overwhelming. And so, so worth it. And he couldn’t help but think that it would be like if it were _Harry_ inside him, pounding away, filling him up, coming hard and hot and groaning.

 _It could be brilliant_ , he thought. It could really be something.


	13. Lesson 13: What Matters Most

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the amazing comments as always! Many of you are waiting for something big to happen, and I don't blame you. All I'll say is that this is a fitting final chapter for 2018, because we are about to hit a major turning point.
> 
> I've been working away at the later chapters of this whenever I can, hoping I can finish as much as possible before I run out chapters to post here. Hopefully I'll be able to stick to my timetable. Comments help a lot, so please keep 'em coming! <3

Draco felt steam enter his lungs as he stepped into Harry’s bathroom at Grimmauld Place. He’d been wondering what was taking the brunet so long to be ready for the day, but he saw, upon entering, that the man was busy shaving. The Muggle way, no less. Most of his jaw and neck was coated with thick white cream and his head was tilted to the side, finding the right angle to effectively shape his sideburns with a safety razor.

He wore nothing more than a plush blue towel wrapped around his waist as he stood before the mirror, leaving his torso deliciously bare and flecked with beads of moisture left over from his hot shower. Coming up behind him, Draco placed his mouth on Harry’s shoulder and sucked off a few droplets, enjoying the heat of Harry’s skin against his lips.

Looking up, he met Harry’s eyes in the mirror.

“Getting impatient?” the brunet asked.

“I thought we were having breakfast,” Draco replied, an arm snaking around Harry’s abdomen. Secretly, he loved the intimacy of this, the chance for them to be together for these small, mundane moments. They were getting to have them more and more at Hogwarts, given how frequently they now slept in each other’s rooms. But it was Easter break now, which presented the opportunity for another wonderful week at Grimmauld, passing the time much as they had over the Christmas holiday. An opportunity for even more intimacy of all sorts.

Harry hadn’t even properly invited him this time. It was just understood that they would spend it together.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes,” Harry promised him.

“Why do you shave the Muggle way?” Draco asked, watching the process in the mirror with a mild fascination.

Harry tapped his razor on the side of the sink and began working on his left cheek. “Never really got the hang of shaving charms. They make me nervous.”

“As opposed to a sharp metal blade swiping down your face?”

Harry laughed. “At least this I can see.” He held up the razor. “With the charms, I could never figure out how close I needed to get.”

“But the charms protect you against cuts.” Draco didn’t know where this compulsion to argue was coming from. He supposed it was just that many of Harry’s habits still flabbergasted him.

“I rarely ever cut myself anyway,” Harry said smugly. He was doing part of his neck now, and Draco almost wanted to look away.

“That razor makes _me_ nervous,” he admitted.

Harry gave him a tender smile, and they remained silent for a bit while Harry finished the underside of his jaw.

“There was something I wanted to talk to you about, actually,” the brunet said.

“Oh?”

Harry rinsed his razor and tapped it on the sink again. “Yeah. I was going to wait until breakfast, but now’s as good a time as any.”

“All right.” Draco noticed a distinct squirming in his gut, as if he had a sudden bout of nerves.

“My friend David’s throwing a birthday party at his place for his boyfriend in a couple of weeks. I’ve been invited, and I thought… Well…” Harry paused in his shaving, his chin only half finished. “I know we agreed that we wouldn’t… go out. I mean, be seen out together. But, you know, it’s a Muggle party. I mean it will all be Muggles. None of the guests will be anyone we know, from the wizarding world. And it will be at David’s apartment, not a public place, so there’s really no risk.”

Draco hesitated, waiting for Harry to actually ask a question. But when he didn’t, Draco decided to prompt him. “Are you asking me to go with you?”

The brunet’s partially shaved face broke into a nervous smile. “Yes. That’s what I’m asking.”

“As your date?”

Harry stared at him in the mirror. “Yes.”

“I… well…” He hadn’t been expecting this. It was true that it went against their original agreement, technically. Though Harry also made a good point. If they knew they weren’t going to run into any mutual acquaintances, if Harry was just going to be thought of as a normal fellow Muggle and Draco the same by everyone present, then what was the harm?

“I just thought it would be nice to go out in _some_ form, sometime,” Harry said, when the silence had dragged a bit. “I mean, we spend so much time cooped up in our rooms. But, you know, if you’re uncomfortable… I mean, I understand-“

“No,” said Draco. “No, it’s a good idea. I think that sounds nice. I’ll go with you.”

Harry beamed. “Great. You’ll have a good time, I think. They’re good people. You’ll like them.”

“All right. Sounds good.”

He watched Harry some more in silence as the brunet resumed his shaving. Harry was clearly relieved that they’d had the conversation and that Draco had said yes. His eyes were calm as he followed the movements of his razor. Draco almost opened his mouth to mention something _he_ had been wanting to bring up for a few weeks now. Harry was willing to put himself out there, even when he was nervous. So Draco could too.

 _I want you to fuck me._ Draco tried the words inside his head, deciding they sounded too blunt.

 _I’ve been thinking about switching roles for a while, since that first night with the vibrator. What do you think? Do you want to try?_ Yes. That was better.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Harry was rinsing his face in the sink now, then grabbing a washcloth and patting himself dry. Draco looked on, his heart beating rapidly, as Harry took a bottle of amber liquid out of his medicine cabinet and splashed a little on his face. A masculine scent filled the room, sandalwood and vanilla, and Draco realized he already associated that scent with Harry. It filled his nostrils a few seconds, overwhelming him.

Harry’s aftershave potion. It aroused him a little, just smelling it.

Harry turned to him. “All finished,” he said. He brought Draco closer for a kiss, and Draco couldn’t help but cradle the smooth, soft jaw with one hand, breathing in deeply. Harry’s mouth was full and soft too, and Draco took a few seconds to suckle on it, savoring it. Harry’s lips broke into a smile. “How about some breakfast, then?”

Draco looked down. “Going to cook for me in your towel?”

Harry laughed. “Prat. I’ll get dressed first, of course.”

“Or you could just go naked,” Draco joked with a grin. “That would be a sight to see. Or maybe just an apron, so at least I can enjoy staring at your arse while you fry the bacon.”

“Pervy bastard,” Harry murmured. “Just can’t get enough of my arse, can you?”

 _I’ll never have enough_ , he almost blurted, before catching himself. He kissed Harry again. “Something like that,” he said.

***

“You really don’t want anything stronger than a butterbeer, Draco?” Francesca asked him as she poured Harry some whiskey. “I have other liquors besides Ogden’s, if you prefer, or wine…”

“No, this is best,” Draco said, holding up the bottle and toasting her generosity. “I have a meeting with a student at eight o’clock. We’ll be brewing, so it’s best that I have my wits about me.”

The term was back in full swing now that everyone had returned from the Easter holidays, meaning he had to keep up with all of his professorial duties, even those he had invented himself, like overseeing Raisie McNeal’s NEWT level research. Still, he had been glad to take Francesca up on her offer for him and Harry to enjoy some social time in her quarters, even if he would have to cut it a bit short. He was craving any opportunity he could get to be around adults, as teenagers were currently taking a large part of his time and energy.

“This is more research with McNeal?” Harry asked, accepting his firewhiskey from Francesca with a thankful smile. Draco nodded. “How is that going?”

“Quite well. She’s testing the reversal affects of concentrated liquid Asphodel on different complexities of poisons. The potential applications are numerous. She could very well revolutionize the production of antidotes, if she sticks with it.”

Francesca sat herself next to Draco on the sofa. “It sounds intriguing,” she said. “And there’s no question that McNeal has talent. But it does surprise me you’re letting a 4th year begin something so complex. Don’t you worry about her ability to handle it?”

“She’s given me no reason to be concerned so far,” Draco said. “Though I am keeping a close eye on her work, closer an eye than I keep on my NEWT students. If I need to slow down her research or put it on hold, I will. But at this point there have been no problems.”

“Well, it’s above and beyond what I would do,” Francesca admitted. “I haven’t got a single 4th year who can even manage transfigurations as advanced as OWL level, let alone NEWT. Their intuition is severely lacking.”

“Oh, but you have Nakamura, don’t you?” Harry said.

“He’s a 5th year,” Francesca reminded him.

“I know that,” said Harry with a roll of his eyes. “But as a 4th year he was already doing OWL level, remember? You were raving about him last year.”

“I think I might lose him to Charms,” Francesca said, an edge of bitterness coming into her voice. “His interests seem to be leaning that way. And it’s just that his spell work is so good, so he does exceedingly well in both subjects. I suppose Flitwick and I will have to squabble over him when it comes time for his mastery.”

“My money’s on you, without question,” Harry said affectionately. “And a bit of squabbling would be worth it, don’t you think? For the right student?”

“Easy for you to say,” Draco said. “You never have to fight over the favor of your students.”

“That’s not true!” said Harry, indignant.

“It is true,” Francesca said soberly. “Because your subject is unique by its very nature. Anyone who is passionate about Defense isn’t going to find that interest fed by another subject.”

“And all your bloody Gryffindors worship the very ground you walk on,” Draco added. “And Flint, too.”

“And O’Brien, that Ravenclaw,” said Francesca.

“And Stone. And that Beauxbatons transfer, what’s-her-name… Laurent.”

“All right, all right,” said Harry, an attractive blush stealing across his cheeks. “You’ve both made your point.”

Draco sat back, satisfied, and enjoying the actually rather adorable sight of an embarrassed Harry. He didn’t get to see it very often anymore.

Francesca turned to him. “Do you think you and Neville will have to squabble over students, when he joins us next year? There is a fair amount of overlap between Herbology and Potions.”

Draco grinned widely and looked at Harry, whose expression was mirroring his own.

“What?” Francesca asked, looking between the two of them.

“Nothing. Only Harry owes me five galleons.”

“For what?” the witch asked, confused.

“Draco bet me that you’d find some way to bring Neville into the conversation within the first half hour of our being here.”

Francesca’s jaw dropped, and it was her turn to blush. She closed her mouth again. “You did not.”

“I did,” said Draco. “Harry disagreed. He thought it would take an hour, at least. He thought you needed a bit of liquor in you first.”

“You two,” Francesca said, crossing her arms and looking away, trying to recover some composure.

In the meantime Draco tossed a wink Harry’s way and then held out his hand, looking to collect. Rolling his eyes, Harry dug around in his pockets and then dropped five coins into Draco’s outstretched hand.

“I’ll collect the rest later,” Draco murmured to him. The wager had actually been five galleons, plus a very thorough rimming and blow job to be received at a time of the winner’s choosing. But Francesca didn’t need to know that second bit.

Harry licked his lips, as though anticipating the deeds in question, and Draco couldn’t help but imagine himself spreading for Harry, waiting for that pleasure to be delivered. _Maybe I’ll cash in tonight,_ he thought, his cock twitching at the prospect.

Harry turned back to Francesca. “Well, how is it going with Neville, then?” he asked her. “Any progress?”

“We’ve been writing quite a bit,” the witch replied demurely, her cheeks not quite back to their natural shade of olive. “It’s all been very friendly, though. Nothing obviously romantic.”

Harry nodded. “The breakup with Hannah has taken its toll. So keeping it friendly is wise, at this point. Give him some time to move on.”

“That was my thinking as well,” said Francesca.

“What happened between them?” Draco found himself asking, out of mere curiosity.

Harry eyed him, almost admonishing, then turned to Francesca to find her expression avid as well. “Bloody gossips,” he said, shaking his head.

Francesca scoffed. “You’re one to talk, Harry. You’re always gossiping.” Draco nodded in agreement.

Harry looked disbelievingly between the two of them. “Very well then,” he said. “If you’re going to gang up on me like that, maybe I _shouldn’t_ gossip.”

“No!” both Francesca and Draco exclaimed at once, making Harry smirk.

“Tell us, please,” Francesca added, suddenly doe-eyed and pleading.

Harry sighed. “I won’t go into all the details. There’s really nothing specific that _happened_ anyway, it was just… I don’t know. It was strange. They’re two of the kindest, gentlest people I know, and you think between them it would all sweetness all the time. But they had a way of… sniping at each other, but _nicely_. I don’t know how to explain it. It was all rather passive aggressive and, frankly, difficult to be around. They just didn’t handle conflict well, between them. And there was a surprising amount of conflict. Little things, mind you. I think it just came down to that they got on each other’s nerves a lot and they didn’t know how to handle it.”

“Sounds like they just weren’t well-matched,” said Draco.

“Definitely that,” agreed Harry. “I think Neville could use someone with a bit more fire in her, someone who will stand up to him properly.”

“Good to know,” Francesca said with a half-smile, taking a sip of her drink.

“I hope that hasn’t put you off him,” Harry said to her. “He’s a great bloke, really. Hannah just didn’t bring out the best side of him, is all.”

“It hasn’t,” she assured him. “No one’s perfect. It’s a relief, really. I was beginning to think there was nothing wrong with him. Now I can come in a bit more prepared. And better matched.”

“It’s always better to not put your lover on a pedestal, I say,” said Draco.

Harry gave him a soft smile. “I agree.”

They stared at each other a moment as Draco felt his cheeks flush. He turned to Francesca.

“To answer your question from earlier,” he said, to change the subject, “I don’t imagine Neville and I will have to do much squabbling over students. Herbology and Potions may have a lot of overlap in subject matter, but the skill sets required are very different. We will probably have all the same NEWT students, but as far as masteries go, I think it will be obvious what direction each student should head in, once it’s time for them to choose.”

Francesca nodded. “I think you’re quite right.”

Conversation turned back to their current students and how they were coming on in preparation for their exams. Draco was quite enjoying himself and was disappointed when he glanced at the clock and saw that it was only ten minutes until eight. He needed to leave.

“That’s me, I’m afraid,” he told his friends, standing up. They both made noises indicating their disappointment as well.

“You’re too good to your students, really,” Francesca told him.

“If it’s still early when you finish up, come find us here,” said Harry. “We may still be at it, only considerably drunker.”

Draco laughed. He would actually rather like to be witness to that. He bent and gave Francesca a kiss on the cheek, which she returned, and thanked her for the drink. Then he went to Harry, where he bent and gave him a kiss full on the mouth without even thinking about it.

He felt Harry take a surprised breath, but then the Gryffindor kissed him back fully.

“I’ll see you later,” he said softly, when their lips parted.

“Later,” Draco agreed. He nodded back to Francesca, then took his leave.

They were probably talking about him now that he was gone, Draco realized as he made his way to his classroom. They were bloody gossips, after all, all three of them. He couldn’t help but wonder what Harry would have to say about Draco, about the two of them together, when Draco wasn’t in the room.

 _Probably not much_ , he told himself, to squash the curiosity that was bubbling up in him. It wasn’t like their arrangement was anything special, after all. For Harry, it was just like all the others.

Probably. Right?

Draco arrived at his classroom to find it empty. His prized student hadn’t yet arrived. He glanced at the clock and saw he was a few minutes early, so he sat down behind his desk, figuring he could make a small dent in the never-ending pile of marking he had to do. His 6th years had just handed in essays on Polyjuice Potion, and, while most of them had their facts right, they often missed the more nuanced details of how the potion functioned. He was going to have to write a lecture on it for their next lesson, that was clear. He pushed Harry and Francesca both from his mind as he set himself to his task.

Temporarily absorbed in his work, it took him a while to realize that time was passing and McNeal hadn’t yet arrived. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was almost twenty minutes past the hour, and his brow furrowed. Where was she? She was never late. Should he be concerned? He decided that no, he needn’t jump to conclusions. If something serious had happened another student would have reported it. McNeal was simply late.

He found himself growing mildly annoyed. He’d cut his time with Harry and Francesca short for this, and she didn’t have the decency to be on time? They would have to have a talk when she finally arrived.

The clock was about to strike half past eight now, and Draco decided he was wasting his time waiting around. He could go back to Francesca’s and pass his evening much more enjoyably than this. He was just organizing the papers on his desk and preparing to leave when he heard the sound of rushing footsteps in the corridor. Only a moment later McNeal’s flushed face appeared in the doorway. She was breathing heavily, making it difficult for her to speak clearly.

“Sorry… Professor… I got… I was… Sorry I’m late.”

“Miss McNeal,” Draco replied, glancing up pointedly at the clock. “We said eight o’clock, didn’t we?”

“I…” McNeal took a few more ragged breaths. “Yes, sir. We did.”

“That was half an hour ago.”

McNeal sighed. “Yes, sir. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Draco stared at her, taking in the full picture of her appearance. She looked flustered, and not just from running through the castle, either. Her hair was disheveled, like she, or someone else, had had their hands in it. Her cheeks were a dusky pink and her lips swollen and red in a way Draco immediately recognized.

He arched a brow, believing he understood the situation. The Hogwarts gossip mill had been abuzz with the information regarding McNeal’s current love life, the fact that she’d just spent the afternoon in Hogsmeade with Cole Hammond, a Gryffindor Quidditch star and by all accounts the most fit 6th year in the school, the day before. Draco had been surprised by the news, since in his eyes McNeal was far too young and small to start _dating_ , let alone some sixteen-year-old jock who was likely more experienced than she. Hammond was also not nearly in McNeal’s league, in terms of intellect, and Draco had a hard time imagining what they could possibly have to talk about.

Though it appeared perhaps they weren’t doing much talking.

“What do you propose we do, Miss McNeal?” he asked her.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Professor,” she said, her voice meek and pleading. “But I’d still really like to work, if that’s all right with you.”

It was Draco’s turn to sigh. She was here now, and it seemed a waste to _not_ go ahead with their plan, at this point. “Very well,” he said. “Take out your research and set up the cauldron, then.”

She immediately sprang into action, obviously wanting to make up for lost time. Draco continued his marking while she composed her brewing station and organized her notes.

The sound of shuffling papers ceased suddenly, and Draco found himself looking up from his work. McNeal stood very still in front of her cauldron, staring at her notes.

“Miss McNeal? Is something wrong?”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I… um…” She licked her lips. “I’ve just realized that I haven’t yet done notes on the…” She shuffled through the sheets of parchment in her hand a moment. “…on the interaction of Asphodel with the Blue Hepatica, which is a key ingredient of the version of Weber’s Deadly Triad that I was supposed to brew to… you know…” She swallowed. “…to test.”

Draco watched her a moment. “Meaning?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I really should research that before I add Asphodel to this particular poison,” she said, “as the effects might be…”

“Problematic?” he finished for her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mm, well then.” Draco steepled his hands together on the desk. “It seems you really have wasted my time, then.” They wouldn’t be brewing tonight, that much was clear.

“I… I didn’t mean to, Professor. I just… it’s been a busy time. Things got away from me, and I forgot to research this one component-“

“I see. And Cole Hammond had nothing to do with it?”

She was silent.

“Is that not where you were, who you were with, moments before you arrived here… _late?_ "

McNeal’s eyes glistened, and Draco sighed. It was not his intention to make her cry.

“Miss McNeal, there is nothing at all wrong with wanting to have a social life. It is healthy, in fact. Balance in one’s life is a good thing. But not at the expense of what matters most to you.” They regarded each other a moment. “This kind of work has to matter to you. It is not simple; it is not easy. It will not happen overnight, and it will not happen without an investment of time and energy. Perhaps…” He sighed, thinking of Francesca’s concerned words from only an hour ago. “Perhaps this was too soon for you. Perhaps you’re not ready, and if that’s the case-“

“I _am_ ready, Professor,” she insisted, taking a few steps towards him. “I want this. I want to do this.”

He stared at her, seeing the determination shining hard and glinting behind the residual tears. “Words are not enough. You have to show me that it’s true. So far, tonight, you haven’t. You show up half an hour late, unprepared for the work. What am I supposed to think?”

“It wasn’t my intention-“

“I’m sure it wasn’t. Time got away from you. You were distracted. Mr. Hammond effectively-“

“It’s not his fault,” she cut in, a surprisingly protective edge to her voice.

“No, you’re right. It’s yours. You are responsible for yourself. I only meant that your… relationship, or whatever it is, with Mr. Hammond has to be something that’s _good_ for you, not something that will keep you from your work. Otherwise, what are we doing here?”

She looked down at her shoes a moment. “I understand. But it’s not like that. I promise it isn’t.”

“Not like what?”

“Everyone thinks Cole is just… just some popular Quidditch player who doesn’t care about anything else, but he _does_. He cares about a lot of things. And he cares about me. He would never keep me from my work on purpose or keep me from doing what matters to me. He _wouldn’t._ ”

Draco half expected her to follow this speech with something like “No one understands him like I do” or “We were made for each other and no one can keep us apart” or something equally teenager-esque. But she didn’t, thank Merlin. She only stood there, waiting for Draco’s response.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall take your word for it. As I said, you are responsible for yourself and for whatever relationships you choose to engage in. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that he _is_ two years older than you, and sixteen-year-old boys-“

“’I’m fifteen already,” McNeal cut in, her jaw setting momentarily in defiance. “My birthday was in February.”

Draco fought a smile. “And is Mr. Hammond not about to turn seventeen?”

She shifted on her feet a moment. “In May,” she admitted.

Draco gave a self-satisfied nod. “As I said, there is a two year age difference and teenage boys, well… suffice to say I know because I used to be one, aren’t always… thinking with their brains. So if he is pressuring you-“

“Oh, _Gods_ ,” McNeal cried in mortification, burying her face in her hands. “Professor, please tell me we aren’t really having this conversation.”

Draco couldn’t help it; he laughed aloud. McNeal glared at him through her fingers, her face a deep, blotchy red.

“I sort of can’t believe we’re having this conversation either. I just wanted to be sure…“

“As I said, it’s not’s like that. It’s not about… We haven’t…” Her face became, if possible, even redder. “It was just a bit of snogging, Professor, that’s all. I swear.”

“I believe you,” he said. “But know that if he _does_ pressure you, if he hurts you in any way, he and I will be having words.”

She looked at him over her hands, her mouth almost a smile. “You sound like my dad.”

“Yes, I imagine I do,” said Draco. “That’s because I… care about what happens to you, Raisie. I care about your education. You have a mind for Potions, the best I’ve seen in a long time, and I’m trying to give you opportunities to take advantage of it. Obviously I can’t force you to do something you don’t want to do, but you tell me time and again that you _do_ want to do this work…” He trailed off as he saw her nod vigorously. “I will do everything in my power to make sure that I give you the best education in Potions that I possibly can. I will invest whatever time is needed. But I won’t allow my time to be wasted. It is as valuable as yours.”

She was looking at him wide-eyed again. “Of course, Professor, I didn’t think...“

“No, you didn’t.” McNeal was certainly bright, not to mention mature, in some ways, for her age. But she was still a teenager. And Draco was learning that even the best of them tended to be a bit self-absorbed sometimes. It was something she would grow out of. But at the moment she had plenty of lessons she still needed to learn. “I didn’t give much thought to my professors when I was in school either,” he admitted to her. “I didn’t think about the fact that they might have families, friends, social lives, troubles, passions, interests, outside of the education of their students. But every teacher does. We do not sit around behind our desks after hours waiting for students to show up and give us a purpose. We have plenty else to do.”

McNeal stared at the floor a moment, then nodded.

“I didn’t return to my classroom directly after dinner and mark essays until you arrived, you know,” he went on. “Do you want to know where I was before I came here to meet you?”

“Yes, Professor,” she said softly, as though she knew that was how she was supposed to answer.

“I was with friends. I was having a drink in Professor Bianchi’s quarters, along with Professor Potter. I was talking and laughing and enjoying myself with people whose company I value, because I’d had a very long day and I wanted to unwind. Do you know what that feels like?”

She nodded more slowly this time, as though finally getting it. “Yes, sir, I do.”

“Do you also know what it feels like to be required to cut an enjoyable social event short because of other obligations?”

“Yes, sir,” came the soft reply.

“Do you know the frustration of following through on an obligation that is important to you only to discover that the other person hasn’t bothered to show up, hasn’t bothered to have the same respect for your time as you have for theirs?”

She closed her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, then you know how I feel.”

She sighed heavily. “Yes, sir. I’m very sorry.”

Draco nodded. He truly believed her this time. “Very well. Do the research required for the next phase of the experiment. When you are ready we will schedule another meeting, and not any time before. And if you show up for one of our meetings again late or unprepared, then bear in mind that that’s it. No third chances. No special treatment. You’ll have to wait until seventh year to do your research just like the rest of my students. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Professor. Perfectly clear.”

“Good. Then I shall see you in class on Tuesday.”

“Thank you, sir.” She waved her wand, banishing her cauldron and other brewing accoutrements back into the student’s storage cupboard. She then gathered her notes under her arm and turned to go. “Have a good night, Professor,” she managed.

“You as well, Miss McNeal. And do mention to Mr. Hammond that I’m going to be keeping a close eye on him from now on, would you?”

She looked over her shoulder and gave him a look that was half embarrassed, half amused. “Yes, sir. I will.” Perhaps Draco was imagining it, but he almost thought she sounded a bit pleased.

He smiled to himself, and when she was well gone he organized the papers on his desk in earnest, stood, and decided he would return to Francesca’s and see if his two friends were still enjoying themselves, and if he would be welcome to join them.

***

The evening of the Muggle birthday party arrived, and Draco was more nervous than he cared to admit. While it was true that he was merely going to be meeting a bunch of Muggles that he would likely never see again, they _were_ Harry’s friends, and this was the first time they were going to be out together since the inception of their… whatever it was they were doing. Arrangement? Friendship with benefits? Temporary relationship?

Either way, he found that he really did want Harry’s friends to like him. He wanted to be able to get on with them, make it a pleasant evening for him and Harry both. He also found himself both curious and nervous about how Harry would be presenting Draco to them. As his date, surely, but what did that mean? Harry probably brought dates to parties and get-togethers all the time. His friends probably wouldn’t think twice about it.

But what if Harry was trying to present them as more? What if Harry made it seem like they were… a couple? How would Draco feel about that?

Honestly, he didn’t even know where to begin.

“You look sexy,” Harry told him with a kiss when he came by Draco’s quarters to pick him up for the party.

Draco looked down at his outfit: tight gray trousers, a green v-neck jumper over a white button down, finished off with well-tailored charcoal sport coat.

“Do I? I wasn’t sure if this was the right way to go.” Was this how Harry’s Muggle friends would dress? He had no way of knowing. Harry, for his part, was a bit more dressed down, wearing a pair of black jeans, a red graphic t-shirt, and a simple but sexy black leather jacket. He looked fantastic, as he always did, but it was making Draco feel a bit over-dressed.

“I like it,” said Harry. “It’s very… you.”

Draco arched a brow. “And is that a good thing?”

Harry laughed and kissed him again. “I told you I thought you looked sexy, didn’t I?” His eyes were warm and bright, looking at Draco. “Are you nervous?”

Draco gave him small shrug in response.

“It’s all right,” Harry said softly, the brightness never leaving his eyes for a moment. “So am I, a bit.”

 _What reason would Harry have to be nervous?_ Draco wondered as they left his rooms and made their way through the castle. He was just going to see some of his friends.

Draco was going to ask but was suddenly surprised when he felt Harry’s warm and calloused hand in his. He looked down at it a moment, the folding of tan fingers around pale ones swinging between them, before he spoke.

“Um, Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry looked over at him, and Draco nodded towards their hands. Harry blinked, and then his eyes widened. “Oh. Right. Sorry.” He dropped Draco’s hand as if it had burned him.

Draco felt the loss of that touch more than he thought he would. “It’s not that I mind, you know,” he said quickly. “It’s just, you know, we’re still in the castle, so…”

“No, right…” said Harry, shaking his head. “Of course. It’s… yeah. Wouldn’t want anyone to see. I get it.” He put his hands in his jacket pockets.

Draco felt like an arse. He never wanted Harry to feel like Draco was rejecting his touch. But then again, Harry had always been careful before now, had always managed to avoid public displays that would give them away. This was a momentary lapse in judgment obviously, but it was also a risk they couldn’t take.

They were silent as they left the castle and went out into the pleasant April night. Draco kept trying to find something to break the silence he felt that he had unwittingly caused, but he couldn’t think of anything. He’d already grilled Harry up and down about the party and what his friends would be like and what sort of thing Muggles liked to talk about. And they already talked all the time about their students and classes and were both well-apprised on how things were going in that area. And Draco hardly thought bringing up a heavier subject like either of their families would be much appreciated. So, at the moment, Draco was at a loss.

Until he remembered that there _was_ one thing he kept meaning to bring up with Harry and just hadn’t yet had the courage to. But was this the right time or place for that? It would probably seem a little strange to say something right at this moment.

But as he looked over at Harry walking beside him, whose hands were still in his pockets and who was looking straight ahead, his face blank, Draco realized that he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted Harry to look at him, to smile at him. He wanted that connection he normally felt between the two of them. So he spoke.

“Harry?”

“Yes?” The tone of Harry’s voice was friendly enough, but he hadn’t looked at Draco yet.

“Would you…” He began, then realized he wasn’t sure where he was going to go with that sentence. “I’ve been thinking…”

“About what?” Harry did turn to him now, the pace of his stroll slowing perhaps a little.

“About… switching,” Draco said. When Harry didn’t immediately reply he cleared his throat and continued. “Positions. Or maybe ‘roles’ is the better word. I mean…”

Harry stopped walking altogether, his body turning fully to the blond. “Draco…”

“I want you to fuck me,” he blurted. The brought a hand to his mouth as it broke into an involuntary nervous grin, but dropped it quickly. “If you want, I mean. I mean…” He chuckled. “I know you want to, because you’ve said. But, I mean… I’m ready if you’re ready.”

A slow, delighted smile spread across Harry’s face. “Really?”

“Really.”

“When?”

“Tonight,” Draco found himself saying. He was feeling bold, something he supposed he had picked up from Harry. “After the party.”

Harry took a step towards him. “You are full of surprises,” he said. He leaned in a moment, hands half-reaching for Draco’s waist, but then seemed to recover himself. With a look in the direction of Hogsmeade, where the lights were glowing warm and low not too far in the distance, he pulled away.

But that wasn’t what Draco wanted, not now. “Oh, come here,” he said, pulling the Gryffindor to him.

“We’re still on Hogwarts grounds,” Harry said as Draco pressed their bodies together. “There’s still a chance someone could see.”

“It’s worth the risk,” said Draco, and he put his mouth on Harry’s.

Harry hummed happily and kissed him back, consuming Draco’s mouth with exquisite slowness before dipping his head and finding that hotspot behind Draco’s jaw that always sent a jolt of lust through him.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing this up now.” Draco could hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “Now all night I’m going to be thinking about this, about _you_. About being inside you.”

Another nip at his jaw and Draco was truly melting, a soft moan escaping him.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Harry said, pulling away to look at Draco. “Devious Slytherin that you are.”

Draco gave him a coy smile. “Perhaps.” In truth, he hadn’t done it on purpose. He’d thought the timing rather awkward, actually. But now he could see its advantages. It gave them something to anticipate.

Harry let out a small growl and kissed his mouth again. “You make me mental, you know,” he said against Draco. “In the best possible way. I’ve half a mind to drag you back to the castle and skip the party altogether.”

“But we can’t do that,” said Draco, looking at Harry with deliberately wide eyes that he hoped conveyed pure innocence. “It’s your friend’s birthday. You’ve gotten him a gift and everything. Everyone will be expecting you.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief, his eyes never straying from Draco. “Devious Slytherin,” he repeated. “You’ll be the death of me.” After one final, searing kiss he pulled away, taking Draco’s hand and leading them towards Hogsmeade. “Come on, let’s get this over with,” he said, making Draco laugh.

The tension was broken, and when they crossed the gates into Hogsmeade and Harry dropped Draco’s hand once more, it felt completely different this time. Harry offered his elbow and Draco took it, and only a moment later he was being spun and squeezed and spat back out in an alley somewhere in Muggle London.

Both men blinked and got their bearings, and then Harry reached out his hand. “Shall we?”

Draco took it without hesitation, enjoying the way their fingers could intertwine and rest happily against each other without fear of being spotted. As they stepped out onto the street Draco realized how liberating anonymity was, and he took a moment to enjoy it. He wondered if that was one reason Harry had cultivated himself a group of Muggle friends. It allowed him to be normal; it allowed him to do what he wanted without feeling that everyone was watching his every move.

He found himself leaning into Harry a bit as they walked, seeking out the natural comfort of his warmth and weight. Harry turned and smiled at him, leaning over to give him a peck on the lips.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he said. “Being out? Like this?”

Draco nodded and kissed him back, lingering a moment. “It is.”

Harry’s friend’s flat was on the fifth floor of a high-rise, and they had to take a Muggle lift to get there. Draco had been in wizard lifts before, like at the Ministry of Magic, and they were always rickety things with metal cages for doors and an overwhelming sense that they would fall apart entirely if not held together by magic. This lift, on the other hand, was sleek and metallic, dinging loudly at them to alert them of doors opening or their requested floor arriving.

“Muggles just like things rather shiny and new, I suppose.”

Harry laughed beside him, and Draco realized he’d said the thought aloud.

“A lot of the time,” the brunet said, pulling out a couple of small items from his jacket pocket. When he unshrunk them Draco saw that one was a gift wrapped in blue paper and a silver bow, and the other was a bottle of red wine. “Here,” Harry said, handing Draco the wine. “Something to contribute.”

“Thank you,” said Draco, genuinely grateful for the gesture. He hadn’t thought. But it made sense. One should never arrive at a party empty-handed.

Of course, that was Harry. Always thoughtful.

When they arrived at the correct door Draco could already hear voices and music on the other side. Harry didn’t bother knocking, but rather strode on in. They were immediately greeted with a welcoming cheer, many faces turning to them at once.

Those in the kitchen, right by the door, immediately came up and starting giving Harry hugs and kisses galore. Harry immediately introduced Draco to the room, and he found his hand being shaken as well, people seeming genuinely happy to meet him.

“So glad you could come,” said a stocky black bloke to Harry, who Draco had to assume was David. He just had that air of “host” around him. He clapped Harry on the shoulder with familiarity and grinned a wide, white grin. “Jack’s excited to see you.”

“And where is the birthday boy?” Harry asked. “We come bearing gifts.” He pointed to Draco’s wine and then held up his own package.

“Cheers. That’s mighty generous,” said David. “I’m sure you’ll want to give that to Jack in person. As for the wine,” he turned to Draco, “I can take that, mate. In fact, that’s open that up and get you a glass, yeah? Unless you’d rather have something else.”

He led them farther into the kitchen, where Draco saw a vast array of alcohols all lined up on the counter.

“Full service tonight,” David said. “What’ll you have?” He looked at Draco first.

“Wine is great,” said Draco. “Whatever’s open.”

“Excellent. And for you…” He pointed at Harry. “Whiskey soda?”

Harry shrugged. “You know me too well.”

As David was preparing their drinks Draco took a moment to look around the room. It was quite a nice flat: an open space, clean and warm, earth tone colors punctuated with reds and deep greens. The furniture looked new and comfortable. David had good taste.

The party was well-attended but not overwhelmingly full, and the guests were an eclectic bunch. While many were styled similarly to Draco, the men in button-downs with trousers or jeans and the women in simple knit dresses, some looked outright bohemian in printed, flowing fabrics and chunky, beaded jewelry. Draco found his eyes drawn to one woman in particular who somehow managed to be strikingly beautiful while sporting a shaved head. It was boldness Draco had never seen practiced by any witches before, but it suited her, thanks to the symmetrical bone structure of her face and the large, eye-catching earrings she wore in contrast.

It made him realize how homogenized wizarding Britain was, even seven, nearly eight, years after the war. In fashion, certainly, but in other things as well. He hadn’t thought about it much before, because in the pureblood world homogeny was a good thing, without question. It left little room for dissent, and very little room to make mistakes.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as he was handed a glass of wine.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes flitting about the room again.

“Shall we make the rounds, then?” Harry asked him as another guest came through the door and David was pulled away to greet them.

“Do you know all of these people?” Draco asked.

“Most of them,” Harry said. “They’re not, you know, my best mates or anything. There’s a lot they can’t know about my life, for obvious reasons. But most of them are all friends with each other and end up at the same parties and events, so I see them quite a bit. And there are a fair few that I’ve…” He trailed off, though it took a few seconds for Draco to figure out why.

“Dated?” he ventured with an amused cock of the eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah.” Harry actually looked a bit sheepish, which made Draco snort.

“I figured as much, Harry,” he said honestly. He knew there was a good chance he’d be running into some of Harry’s exes at this party. But they were Muggles, and it had all been casual. And he and Harry were casual. So really, what was the harm? “I mean, you’ve slept with most of the gay men in London, haven’t you?”

Harry elbowed him, a bit hard actually. “Prat,” he said.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I happen to quite enjoy your sexual prowess. I’ve benefitted quite a bit, I would say.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, well…”

“I thought you weren’t ashamed of it,” Draco said, watching Harry’s expression closely. For some reason, Harry was uncomfortable. But he couldn’t surmise why.

“I’m not, but…”

“But…?”

He sighed. “Nothing. You’re right.”

“Shall we make the rounds then?”

Harry put a hand on Draco’s back. “Let’s.”

Harry was greeted with kisses and friendly smiles by everyone, unsurprisingly. Just like at Hogwarts the brunet walked around like he had a glittering sign reading “well-liked” hanging above him at all times. What Draco did find unexpected was how happy they also seemed to meet him as well. Many shook his hand and a few women even gave him kisses on the cheek, like old friends.

It helped, he was sure, that Harry kept describing him as a “brilliant and devoted teacher” and one of his “closest friends,” the latter of which warmed Draco’s gut better than a glass of wine ever could.

He found himself smiling a lot and mostly just trying to listen and get his bearings. While the social dynamic was much like any party Draco had ever attended, many of the topics of conversation were well out of his frame of reference. He knew essentially nothing about Muggle politics, religion, art, or literature, and apparently there was _a lot_ to know.

The Muggle world was just so _big_ , he realized. He was used to a world where just about everyone had attended the same school and knew each other, if not personally than at least by association. It was widening a little with the influx of Muggleborns in recent decades, but in pureblood circles everyone still knew all of each other’s business and took great enjoyment in gossiping about each other as if they were still teenagers back at Hogwarts. That hadn’t changed at all.

Draco was again struck by the heady freedom that anonymity could give you. A person could remake themselves in this world, start fresh, leave their history behind.

Conversation ebbed and flowed as the guests did, as Draco and Harry made their way around the flat, from the kitchen into the living room where most guests were congregated. Draco was starting to pick up certain details the more he listened, like how these Muggles were clearly a bit fed up with their current prime minister, some bloke named Blair who was apparently a lapdog of the current American president. Or how there was some film coming out soon featuring a well-known spy character named James Bond, and did they think this Daniel Craig would be up to the task? Draco listened, nodded, and laughed when appropriate, all the while collecting information piece by piece to try and understand what it was like to live in the Muggle world.

Harry was clearly adept at it already, comfortable in a way Draco wasn’t ever sure he could be. Then again, Harry had been raised Muggle, even if it was by those awful Dursleys, so there was a naturalness to his demeanor that Draco watched and tried to mimic.

They got separated after a while. Harry went to fetch another drink, and since Draco was content with his half glass of wine he didn’t follow. He was too busy in a discussion with a mousy-haired Muggle who worked in technology about the recent phenomenon of what he referred to as “social media” and the way that Muggles around the country and around the world were able to connect with each other in new ways. There was so much in it that was completely novel for Draco that he found himself entirely engrossed, losing track of his brunet lover for a while.

When said mousy-haired bloke had to excuse himself to answer a device beeping in his pocket which he referred to as his “mobile,” Draco found himself alone and looked about the room, wondering where Harry had got to. He didn’t spot him right away, though, and wondered if he had stepped out to the balcony for some fresh air. No matter. Draco would top off his glass of wine and join him there.

He poured himself another glass of red and looked around the flat once more. A few guests who he had met earlier made eye contact and smiled at him, and he nodded in return.

“Having a good time?” said a voice behind Draco, and he turned to see that David had come up beside him.

“Yeah, I am actually,” said Draco.

David laughed. “You sound surprised.”

Draco gave him a sheepish grin and took another sip of wine. Apparently the alcohol was making him a bit honest. “It’s only that I don’t know anyone except Harry, so I had no idea what to expect.”

“Fair point. I like to think we’re a decent bunch but some of us have known each other a bit too long, I think. So, in fact, we welcome fresh blood. Keeps things interesting.”

Draco laughed. “Happy to oblige.” He took a sip of wine and decided he could make conversation for a bit and find Harry later. He hadn’t had much chance to get to know David yet. “How long have you and Jack been together?”

He kept David talking about his boyfriend, which was unsurprisingly easy to do. The two men had met cute a couple of years ago, and since then, from the sound of it, they’d had quite a few adventures together, going out, traveling, and meeting and trying to win over disapproving parents (interracial gay couples could draw as much ire among some Muggles as they could among purebloods, apparently). Draco nodded along, genuinely interested and still trying to glean as much information as he could about the Muggle way of life, for future reference.

“We’ve survived it all so far,” David said. “Thankfully. Now there’s talk of moving in together.” He gave Draco a nervous grin. “I’ve never lived with a partner before. It’s a big step for me.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Sounds like you know from experience.”

“A bit.”

“We’re already arguing about it, in classic David/Jack fashion. The question right now is, who has to give up their flat. Neither of us want to.”

Draco looked around. “If it were me, I’d vote this one. I meant to say something before, but I really like the way you’ve done it up. It’s quite sophisticated. But, you know, comfortable at the same time.”

“Thank you! I’m going to tell Jack you said that,” said David. “No really, I am. He thinks the place looks too stuffy and grown up. I told him, we’re twenty-seven years old, for Christ’s sake. Shouldn’t we be grown up by now? ‘Course, he still has his old futon from his flat at uni. Never gets rid of anything, Jack. God help me.”

Draco laughed, though he had no earthly idea what a futon was, or what “uni” referred to. He understood the sentiment, nonetheless.

“Oi, I know you,” said a vaguely familiar voice. Both Draco and David turned their heads and there was that tall, bearded bloke from the Muggle gay club many months ago, the one Harry had taken him to in order to pick up men, pouring himself a glass of amber liquor. Draco racked his brain a moment, trying to remember.

“Paul, was it?” he said.

“Good memory,” said the man, actually sounding impressed. He held out a hand, and Draco shook it. “Mine’s not as good, I’m afraid. I know the name was unique, but that’s it.”

“Draco.”

“Right. Draco. Family name?”

“Something like that.”

“You two have met before?” asked David.

“He was out with Harry at… where was it… Heaven?”

“Sure,” said Draco, because he honestly didn’t remember the name of the club. In fact, he wasn’t sure if Harry had ever told him the name.

“Yeah, I think that was it. ‘Cause I went out there right after I split up with Colin. I remember that.”

Draco only nodded.

“Anyway, yeah, him and Harry were out together, looking to pull,” Paul said to David. “Looking fit, too, from what I remember.”

Draco shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

“Oh. I thought you and Harry were… you know… together,” said David.

“Nah, just old school mates, they are, yeah?” said Paul.

“And we work together now.”

“Right, right.”

Draco was about to add that yes, in fact, they were currently sleeping together, to clear up some confusion, but Paul was already talking again.

“Stephen just left, so you know,” he said to the host of the party. “Didn’t want to bother you about it. But it was… you know.” He nodded his head in Draco’s direction.

“Really? Bugger,” said David. “Should have seen that coming, I suppose.”

Draco looked between the two of them, confused. “Did I… do something wrong?”

David laughed. “Oh, no, sorry, love. It’s not you Paul’s talking about. He means Harry.”

“Harry?” Draco asked, confused.

“Yes,” Paul simpered, putting the back of his hand to his forehead in a mock swoon. “It’s just that it’s so _painful_ , to see him here now, with someone else, even after all this time. He just can’t _bear_ it.”

“Bloody drama queen,” David grumbled.

“This bloke dated Harry, I suppose?” said Draco, cottoning on.

“Yeah. Over a year ago now. ‘Course, they were only together a few months.” Paul looked at David.

“A few months is all it takes, apparently,” David said drily.

“All it takes…?” Draco asked.

“To fall madly in love with Harry,” David clarified. “Happens all the time. In fact, I always have to be a bit careful with my guest list, whenever I invite Harry to a party. There are always those that would rather avoid him. I thought Stephen would be fine. I _warned_ him and everything. But apparently he wasn’t ready.”

“You’re exaggerating,” said Paul incredulously. “ _Who_ did you have to avoid inviting because Harry was coming tonight?”

“Michael,” David said. “Andrew. Lars.”

Paul rolled his eyes.

“John. Kieran,” David went on.

“Not _Kieran_.”

“Yes, Kieran. And Eric.”

“German Eric or Skinny Eric?”

David thought a moment. “Both, actually. I meant German Eric, but now that I think about it, Skinny Eric just refuses all of my invitations, at this point.”

“Well he’s a prat, that’s why. It has nothing to do with Harry.”

“I’m only saying, there are a lot of blokes.”

“They _all_ refuse to come to an event if Harry is going to be there?” Draco asked, finding that hard to believe. Yeah, Harry dated around, but he didn’t strike Draco as the heartbreaking type.

“They always get over it eventually,” Paul said. “Andrew told me he was coming tonight, whether Harry was coming or not.”

“He was going to, actually,” David said, “but his sister went into labor and he had to miss it.”

“Well, there you are then,” said Paul.

“I don’t know. A part of me is convinced he was relieved.”

Paul rolled his eyes some more. “And I really think you’re exaggerating.”

“So why do you keep inviting Harry to things, if there are all these other potential guests who won’t attend if he does?” Draco asked, hoping for some clarification on the situation.

“Because it’s not _Harry’s_ fault,” Paul said, cutting off David’s answer. “I mean, you know him as well as any of us. He’s the most honest, up-front bloke you’ll ever meet. Everybody knows he dates multiples at a time and he never gets serious with anyone. If you’re looking for monogamy, you have no business sleeping with Harry in the first place.”

“A person can’t help who they fall for,” said David.

“Maybe, but you can head yourself off at the pass,” countered Paul. “You can get out before it gets serious. Those blokes you just listed chose not to and ended up falling hard for Harry because they convinced themselves they were somehow special even when they knew deep down they weren’t. That’s on them, not Harry.”

“It’s really that common of an occurrence?” Draco asked.

“You know how he is,” said David. “I mean, even as his friends we feel this way. Harry makes people feel special. He makes them feel like they matter.”

“It’s a _good_ thing,” Paul interjected vehemently.

“Yes, it is,” David agreed. “But if you’re a certain kind of person-“

“Low self-esteem,” Paul inserted.

“My God, Paul, must you be so… judgey?”

“Yes,” replied Paul.

“Some people,” David pressed, turning his attention to Draco and ignoring Paul, “find it hard not to… get swept up in Harry. Because he makes them feel so good. Physically and… emotionally.”

“He just loves everyone,” Paul explained. “He thinks everyone is wonderful and lovely, and you know… special snowflake people, or whatever.”

“Special snowflake people?” David repeated drily.

“You know what I mean,” Paul addressed Draco. “He really believes everyone is special and wonderful in their own way. He’s not faking it. That’s part of his charm. But a bloke also can’t let himself…” The redhead sighed. “Harry’s good for the ego, and he’s good for a raging libido, but a bloke can’t expect him to stick around. Those that do always wind up disappointed. But it’s their own bloody fault because Harry always makes it clear he’s not intending to stick around. He never _lies_ about it or leads them on.”

“Sounds like you know from experience,” said Draco. He had wondered if Harry had slept with Paul. It seems like maybe he had, although Paul was clearly not in the camp pining away for Harry, like the others.

“Of course,” said Paul. “It was ages ago, though. I mean, the sex was brilliant.”

“It’s always brilliant with Harry,” David said, and Draco realized it sounded like he was speaking from experience too.

“I definitely don’t regret it,” Paul went on. “But, after a while…” He shrugged. “What can I say? I like monogamy. Harry was never going to give me that, and even if he was I didn’t think we were much compatible. Better as friends.”

“Pretty much the same for me,” said David. “Everyone should experience Harry Potter at least once, just for the sake of…” He trailed off, not seeming to know how to phrase it.

“Future fantasy material,” said Paul.

“Right, something like that. You know, like eating a slice of really good chocolate cake. It won’t sustain you in the long run, but it’s satisfying in the moment.” Draco arched a brown at David as he spoke, unsure of how to respond to that. “There _is_ something to be said for commitment, is what I mean. Something sustainable. Especially at our age.”

Paul scoffed. “You make us sound old.”

“Before you know it we’re going to be thirty,” said David. “That’s when you’re supposed to settle down and have a partner and a mortgage and all that, yeah?”

Paul made a face. “Oh God, you’re right.” He sighed. “I never should have let Colin move to Edinburgh.”

And this set the two men on a totally new topic altogether of Paul’s breakup with his most recent boyfriend, which was clearly still a bit raw, even now. Draco, not nearly as interested in this subject matter, let his mind wander, considering all that Paul and David had just told him.

It didn’t really seem fair, actually, he thought. They’d obviously known Harry for a number of years, but did they really _know_ him? They didn’t know his history, what it took to even reach the age of twenty-five, the hell that was fighting a war and the daily slog of rebuilding their world in the aftermath.

After hardship like that, a person deserved some fun. Just because Harry wanted to have some fun before he eventually settled down didn’t make him a slice of fucking _chocolate cake_. There was so much more to him than that. There was substance. There was depth. Why couldn’t they see that?

His eyes found Harry on the other side of the room. He had appeared, suddenly, without Draco noticing, and was talking with Jack and the woman with the shaved head that Draco had been admiring earlier. He was sipping on another whiskey soda and nodding along to whatever story Jack was telling, laughing as Jack gestured wildly.

Their eyes locked and Harry immediately smiled at him with that all-too-familiar warmth in his eyes. Draco had no choice but to smile back. He saw Harry bite his lip, his gaze raking Draco’s body briefly, and the blond knew exactly what the other man was thinking about. He twisted his smile into a knowing smirk. Harry met his eyes again, somehow managing to look both sheepish and lustful at the same time.

“I thought you said you two weren’t sleeping together.” David’s voice broke the spell and Draco turned back to him.

“What?”

“You and Harry eye-fucking each other from across the room?” David said, looking amused. “I thought you said you weren’t sleeping together.”

“Actually, that’s what Paul said,” Draco replied calmly before taking a sip of wine. “Which I never confirmed or denied.”

To his surprise, David glared at Paul, who was looking confused. “You bloody idiot. After I said all that…”

“How was I supposed to know?” Paul said defensively.

David looked at Draco, an apology in his eyes. “Look, we didn’t… we never would have said all that about Harry and those other blokes if-“

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco cut him off. “It’s not like that.”

“You mean you’re _not_ sleeping together?”

“No, we are,” said Draco. “But it’s a… you know. It’s a fling. It’s not serious. Just like you were saying. Harry isn’t all that interested in monogamy, and neither am I, at the moment.” He decide to leave out the bit about how they were technically monogamous right now, not thinking that either Paul or David would understand. Circumstantial monogamy was different than the intentional kind, and he didn’t think it was wise to get too much into their circumstances right now, how isolated and insulated Hogwarts was. That would give too much away about their world.

“How long have you two been at it?” Paul asked bluntly.

“Since October,” said Draco, then tried to ignore the look that Paul and David exchanged. Yes, it had been six months now, and that seemed like a long time. But it wasn’t a big deal, not really. “We started not long after we saw you at that club, actually. Harry was trying to help me meet… well… I wanted something casual so we were, you know…” He remembered Paul’s phrase. “Looking to pull. But then I sort of realized that Harry would serve just as well for my purposes so we… started sleeping together.”

David laughed. “For your purposes? Of getting laid?”

Draco chuckled, realizing the phrasing was rather funny. “Of getting over my ex-wife, actually. I got divorced about a year ago. I was a bit messed up for a while.”

“You’re bi,” said Paul.

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I hadn’t realized that.”

Draco watched Paul a moment, wondering if there was some subtext he wasn’t getting. But then David interjected.

“Great. That’s fine, you know. Bi is fine.” He gave Paul a warning look. “Go on. I want to hear the rest of the story.”

“Oh, well, there’s honestly not much story to tell. I mean, it was a messy divorce. Quite awful actually. She cheated on me, you see, with my best friend.”

“Ugh, that _is_  awful,” said David. “How did you find out? Did she tell you? Did _he_ tell you?”

“No actually,” said Draco, and he found he was almost smiling. Paul and David were suddenly listening to him with rapt attention, and he actually found himself rather looking forward to shocking them with the sordid details of his failed marriage. “Astoria was pregnant. And of course I _thought_ the baby was mine-“

“No!” said Paul, sounding shocked.

“It was your friend’s?” David asked avidly.

“Exactly. That was how I found out about their affair. They’d been sleeping together the entire time Astoria and I were married.”

Both men’s jaws dropped.

“So how did you find out the baby wasn’t yours?” David pressed. “Did you suspect? Make her take a paternity test or something?”

Draco shook his head. “It was obvious the day he was born. You see how blond I am?” He pointed at his hair, and the men nodded. “Well Astoria is nearly as blonde as I am. And she has blue eyes and is almost as pale as I as well. My best friend, Blaise, on the other hand, is black.”

“Oh, shit,” said David.

“Indeed,” said Draco. “It was immediately obvious. The baby came out and…” Draco paused, remembering the moment. “Well… I knew.”

“That is so fucked up,” Paul said, almost awed.

“Yes, it is,” Draco agreed, really enjoying himself now. “So you can see why I needed some time to get over that. I wanted sex but I didn’t want anything serious. I’m not exactly… emotionally available at the moment, if I’m honest.”

“Well, then you and Harry really are perfect for each other,” David said cheerfully.

“Rude,” Paul accused, giving him a look. “Honestly.”

“I mean it in a very loving away, of course,” David said lightly. “You asked why I still invite Harry to my parties?” he asked Draco, who nodded. “It’s because I _adore_ him. He’s wonderful. And a lot more fun than any of those other blokes who are supposedly in love with him. He’s a good friend and has always been there for me in my time of need.”

“Same here,” said Paul, looking placated.

“He’s a good person. But you have to admit he’s also a bit closed off. You can only ever get so far with him, about his past, about his feelings, hell, even about his job. And I’ve never met a single person who has ever been invited to his home. I don’t even know where he lives. Is it a flat? A house? A fucking Scottish castle? A yurt in the middle of the Gobi Desert? Who knows? It’s a complete mystery.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “He has a house in Islington,” he said without thinking. Paul and David stared at him, and he realized he probably shouldn’t have spoken up. There was a reason Harry could never invite Muggles over. They’d see the house elf and all the magical objects and have to be obliviated.

“You’ve been there?’ asked Paul.

“Yes,” said Draco cautiously. “But I’ve known him a long time, remember? That’s… you know, probably why.”

“What’s it like?” David asked eagerly.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth. “It’s a house, you know. Just a normal house. I mean, he’s hardly ever there. We’re at school most of the year, which is likely why he never invites anyone over. And he’s in the middle of renovating it, and he does a lot of the work himself. It’s taking him forever.”

“He’s renovating his own house,” said David in disbelief. “You see, this is exactly what I’m talking about. I just learned more about Harry’s life in five minutes than I’ve ever learned in the three years of knowing him. He just… _doesn’t_ _share._ ”

“Now you really are exaggerating,” said Draco.

“Maybe, but David does have a point,” Paul said, pointing to his friend. “For all that I love about Harry, for all the time I’ve ever spent with him…” He shrugged. “He never talks about himself. I mean beyond surface level, beyond what he would share at a party with someone he just met. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“It’s not-” Draco began, then realized he had nowhere to go with that. “Look. If you…” He sighed. How did he say this without breaking the Statute of Secrecy or betraying Harry’s confidence? “Harry’s been through some shit, all right? His whole life has been… If you knew what he’s been through, you wouldn’t question why he doesn’t talk about it. Because he doesn’t _want_ to. He wants to leave it in the past. But it’s hard. It’s hard for those things not to haunt you, all the time.” Draco realized he was talking as much from his own experience as he was from Harry’s. But he was on a roll, with the two other men hanging on his every word, so he went on. “So he focuses on other people because it’s easier and because he genuinely does care. It’s like you said, he’s a good person. It’s really rather amazing he is, at that, given everything. But you have to…” He sighed. How did he explain this? “It’s not enough for you to see him now and again at parties and come to him with your problems when you need him. If you really want his trust you have to stop assuming that all he is is a gay bloke who dates around and shags like a god and doesn’t know how to commit. Because he’s a hell of a lot more than that. But if you want to know that, you have to be willing to _listen_. You have to be someone he would want to open up to.”

Both men stared at him, and Draco became convinced he had gone too far. What business did he have telling off friends of Harry’s he’d just met, or implying that Harry’s past was riddled with tragedy, for that matter? It was out of line on many counts.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry-“

“You care about him,” Paul said, cutting him off. “More than you implied before.”

“I never implied that I didn’t care about him,” Draco said quickly. “I care about him deeply, as a friend. I owe him my life, in fact. And I mean that quite literally.”

“We’re not saying there isn’t more to him that we don’t see,” David added, his tone more gentle now. “Actually, I’m making the opposite point. I _know_ there’s more to him than what we get to see. But you have to admit, you knowing him since you were children clearly has its advantages. You know his history better. Would you know so much if you didn’t have that, that longevity?”

 _Yes_ , Draco wanted to insist, because most of what he knew about Harry, about the _real_ him, was what Harry had shared with him these past six months, not what he had gleaned over the course of being his boyhood rival. But, at the same time, Harry had shared much of that out of circumstance, and maybe also because Draco _had_ been there in those early years, had seen the worst of Harry as well as the best of him. So, in the end, it was impossible to know.

“I’m not sure,” he said finally, after giving it some thought. “Maybe our history is part of it. But I don’t think that’s the only way to connect to Harry, if that’s what you really want. My point was you can’t simply stand around and talk about it when he’s not listening in. If you want to know more about him, tell him so. Part of the reason he doesn’t share is that deep down he isn’t sure anyone actually cares. If you actually do, if you want more from him, then tell him so. Otherwise, how is he supposed to know?”

“You make a very good point,” David conceded. “I’ve just never known how to get over that line with him. Most people are the opposite. They share more than you want them to.”

“I would try asking,” said Draco with a small shrug. “I’m not saying that’s all it takes, but it’s a start.”

Both men absorbed that silently. Draco felt awkward, afraid he had interfered in Harry’s life in a way that would not be appreciated. He knew Harry had good reasons for the choices he made. It was likely he was purposefully keeping his Muggle friendships surface level, as that made it easier to avoid problematic slip-ups.

Still, what was he supposed to do, stand around listening to these blokes blame Harry for something they couldn’t begin to understand? He rolled his shoulders, trying to relax.

Luckily David had found a natural segue out of the conversation, reminding Paul about an acquaintance of theirs who had actually lived in a yurt in the Gobi desert and was now a photojournalist traveling around the African continent. Draco listened politely and occasionally inserted his own knowledge into the conversation. Soon they were joined by another friend, a woman with strawberry blonde hair and an inordinate amount of freckles.

Draco felt himself easily able to slip away, nodding a quick goodbye to Paul and David both. He was ready to go find Harry again; he’d been too long without him.

He was not hard to find. One turn of the head and there he was, leaning against a doorframe and listening to some dark-haired bloke tell a story. Their eyes met. Harry quickly excused himself, his eyes barely flicking to the other man before returning to Draco. Something about that made the blond grin, spurred on by the two glasses of wine coursing through his system.

Harry crossed the room and, to Draco’s surprise, kissed him full on the mouth.

“Hi. I missed you.”

Draco laughed. “You could have come over and joined me.”

“It looked like an intense discussion. I didn’t want to intrude, though I thought about it.”

Draco watched him a moment, trying to determine if Harry had any sense that the conversation in question had actually been about him. But Harry’s eyes were simply warm and perhaps a bit eager as he looked at Draco.

“It was nothing,” said Draco. “Just me giving them a bit of my history. Altered, of course. But I did tell them the basic circumstances of my divorce, and they were riveted.”

Harry laughed. “Of course they were. Bloody gossips. They love a salacious tale.”

“As do we all,” Draco reminded him. “We’re all bloody gossips, remember?”

“True enough,” Harry conceded before taking the final sip of his drink. “What do you think? Stay for a bit, or are you ready to head home?”

“I can go whenever it suits you,” said Draco.

Harry grinned, something glinting in his eyes that Draco readily recognized. “It suits me to have you all to myself, if I’m honest.”

“Let’s go then,” said Draco without a second thought. He drained the dregs of his glass as well. “Do you need to say your goodbyes?”

“I’ll take care of it quickly,” the brunet assured him, “and meet you back here.” Another peck to Draco’s lips and he turned away.

True to his word, it was only a few minutes later that Harry was escorting Draco out the door, a hand resting between the blond’s shoulder blades that felt almost protective.

“Well, did you have a good time?” Harry asked Draco once they were in the lift.

“I did,” said Draco. “I like your Muggle friends.”

There was a pause as the lift began to descend, and as it reached the ground floor Draco turned to see Harry looking at him expectantly.

“What?”

There was a chime and the doors opened. Harry gestured for Draco to go first, and he did so.

“What?” he asked again as they made for the lobby doors. “You’re giving me a look.”

“Just seemed like you had more to say is all,” said Harry, and though his tone was light Draco could tell that Harry was more than simply curious.

He considered what he was going to say as the two walked side by side down the street, making for their Apparition point.

“I was thinking, on our way over here, about…” Draco began. He could feel Harry’s warm and expectant presence at his side, a shoulder brushing gently against him. “About how it would be sort of liberating, having Muggle friends. They don’t know who you are. I mean, you know, what you did. In the wizarding world, I mean.”

“Sure,” said Harry. “That’s part of the appeal. It’s a _lot_ of the appeal, actually. And being able to avoid the press.”

“Of course,” Draco agreed. “It makes complete sense to me. But, at the same time… everything has a cost.”

“In what sense?”

“Well, the problem with none of them knowing who you are is that then they… don’t know who you _are._ You have to hide parts of yourself. You have to obfuscate. You can never fully share yourself.” Harry was silent next to him as they walked, and Draco found himself babbling on. “I suppose I’m realizing, even just for myself, that I’m made up of all the things that happened to me, even the things I want to hide, the things I wish no one knew about. The things I wish had never happened. I’m not sure a person can fully be themselves, without that. And I just wonder how much it affects your friendships with those Muggles I just met, because there are huge parts of yourself that they can never know about.”

Harry was silent still as they turned into the alley, away from the prying eyes of London at night. In the shadows of the alley Harry turned to Draco. He didn’t yet offer an elbow for Apparition, but instead simply looked at him.

“You make an excellent point,” he said. “It is hard. With some of them, sometimes I think I might like to tell _some_ version of it, so they get some sense of… I don’t know… where I come from. But something always holds me back. In the end, I like that I can go to those people and have a much simpler persona, a much simpler history, than I ever have in the wizarding world.” He put his hands in his pockets. “Maybe that’s wrong. I don’t know. The truth of it is, even in our world I don’t actually get to be myself, not with most people. Even those who think they know the whole story. They don’t, not really. And I don’t want to tell it.”

“So you’re content with only sharing yourself with a very small group of people?”

Harry thought about that, staring at the ground. “Yes,” he said. “And I think that’s actually something that makes me just like everyone else. In the end, do any of us let most of the world see who we are? I think most people only feel truly understood by a select few. How many people do you think really know and understand you, for example?”

Draco considered that a moment, though he knew the answer immediately. “Not many.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. He offered his elbow and drew his wand. “Shall I?”

Draco took the elbow, and they Apparated back to the gates of Hogsmeade. They turned and started walking towards the castle.

“Is it a trust thing, do you think?” Draco asked, wanting to prolong the conversation. “That keeps us from sharing who we are with most people? If we don’t know them, we don’t trust them to understand us?”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “For me, I just know how easy it is for things to get distorted, twisted around. There’s so much of my story, and myself too, I guess, that isn’t exactly pretty. And people react unpredictably to unpleasant things.”

“Mmmmm,” Draco hummed, finding truth in that. “They bring their own baggage to it.”

“Exactly.”

“Then it’s not even about you anymore. The truth about you gets lost in all of their rubbish.”

“Something like that.”

“It’s a shame.”

“Perhaps.”

“It is,” said Draco, and he didn’t know why he was so sure all of a sudden. “Because parts of your story may not be pretty, but it’s still amazing. You’re amazing.”

He realized he was flushed, thanks in no doubt to the wine and his loose tongue. He could feel Harry staring at him, but he looked straight ahead as the castle loomed above them. “It’s just a shame, is all.”

“I wish I could take your hand right now,” Harry said. “I wish I could kiss you. I hate that I can’t kiss you, sometimes.”

Draco turned to look at him. They were shrouded mostly in darkness. The moonlight was blocked by one of the turrets and they were engulfed in Hogwarts’ shadow. Draco took Harry’s hand and planted a swift but heartfelt kiss to his lips.

“Some things are worth a little risk, right?” he murmured when he pulled away, harkening back to the start of their evening.

Harry let out a small laugh. “Yes.” He squeezed Draco’s hand, then let it drop as they approached the main doors. “Your rooms or mine?”

“Yours are closer.”

Harry smiled and changed the subject, asking Draco what he had thought of some of the Muggles he had met at the party, and Draco was happy to tell the brunet his impressions. Harry was especially entertained when Draco described Paul and David. Apparently they always became loose-lipped and bickering when they’d had a few to drink. Harry spoke of them with pure affection, including their tendency to be “a bit bitchy” sometimes, and Draco held his tongue about the nature of the conversation he’d had with the two men. What good would it do for Harry to know that it was he the two men were being bitchy about, in that particular instance?

Their talk was relaxed and happy as they approached the door to Harry’s quarters, but as soon as Harry let them inside and the door was closed Draco found himself being grabbed and kissed with a desperation he could feel all the way to his toes.

Draco hummed happily and smiled against Harry’s mouth. “Been waiting to do this all night, haven’t you?”

“You’ve no idea,” said Harry. He maneuvered them farther from the door. “Bedroom,” he said.

“Yes,” Draco replied, finding Harry’s lips again.

They kissed consumingly, fumbling their way through Harry’s bedroom door, nearly knocking each other over a few times and chuckling into each other’s mouths. When they were properly inside Harry pulled away, breathing heavily.

“Do you still want…? Can I…? I mean…” He let out a laugh that almost sounded nervous, and it made Draco’s insides tighten in pleasure. It was rare for Harry to not know what to say when it came to matters of sex. But he was looking at Draco pleadingly, hoping Draco would finish the thought for him.

“Fuck me, Harry,” he said, mostly because he wanted it, but also because he simply wanted to watch Harry’s reaction. “Please. Fuck me. Tonight. Now. Right now.”

Harry didn’t disappoint. His face broke into an expression of unadulterated, intoxicated joy, and for a moment Draco felt like the only other person in the universe. He kissed Harry for all he was worth and Harry moaned Draco’s name against his lips.

In a flurry of movement Draco’s jacket was off and his top was pulled over his head, the jumper and shirt together, leaving his chest bare. Draco returned the favor, and soon there was flesh on flesh as they pressed together, consuming each other’s mouths like men dying of thirst. But it didn’t quench the need, only drove it higher.

Speedy, trembling hands undid belt buckles and pushed trousers to the floor, eager feet shuffled out of their shoes and socks, and the two bodies collided again, almost entirely naked. Only the thin cotton of their pants separated Draco and Harry now, pulled taut over the evidence of their mutual arousal.

Harry practically tackled Draco onto the bed.

“Wanted this for so long,” Harry murmured against pale skin as his hand caressed possessively down Draco’s side, to his hip. “Been thinking about it forever.” A mouth latched onto Draco’s nipple.

Draco grinned as he moaned. _Forever_ was more than a bit of an exaggeration, he knew, but he liked the sentiment anyway. He pulled Harry up for another thorough snog.

“Being inside me?”

“Yes.” Harry’s mouth went to Draco’s pulse point.

“Pounding into me?” Draco’s voice was barely breath.

“ _Gods_ , yes.”

“Emptying into me? Filling me to the brim with your cum?”

Harry had no words to respond to that, only an obscene moan as he ground his erection against Draco’s. Draco moaned in return. Harry’s desire for him was so thick and potent around them, Draco felt he was drowning in it, making it difficult to breathe.

“Then do it,” he gasped. “Take off my pants and do it.”

Harry hovered above him, separating their bodies by a couple of inches so he could look down at Draco properly. Draco looked up at him, watching as needy green eyes slowly softened into something else, something he couldn’t identify. Harry kissed him, but tenderly this time.

“All those things,” he said. “All those things. But we can take our time. We don’t have to be in a hurry.”

“I want you, Harry. I want you so much.”

“I want you too, Draco. Gods, I’ve never…” He kissed Draco deeply. “But that’s exactly why we should make it last, right?”

Draco let out a small sigh but returned Harry’s kiss. “Take off my pants, at least,” he said. “And yours.”

Harry chuckled.

“Please,” Draco continued. “I want to feel you against me. _All_ of you.”

That was all Harry needed to hear, apparently, because he climbed off the bed, divesting himself of his underwear. Then, naked, he stared down at Draco, until the blond started to writhe with need under that gaze.

“If you don’t do it for me I’ll do it myself,” Draco warned him.

“The taking off your pants or the fucking?” Harry asked, his voice a heady mix of lust and amusement.

“Both,” Draco replied with a grin. “But it won’t be nearly as good on my own, so…”

“You’re damn right,” Harry said, his gaze darkening. His hands gripped Draco’s underwear and pulled them down, and Draco groaned in approval. Harry climbed onto the bed again, lowering himself over Draco once more. “I’m going to take such good care of you,” he promised.

“You always do,” Draco replied.

And then they were kissing again, the deep, probing kind that Harry always used to make Draco lose himself, to make him forget everything but their lips, their tongues, their breath. It was how he kept Draco present, in the here and now, in all the good that they were feeling rather than anticipating or worrying about what came next.

Draco loved this, loved the way Harry put everything into those kisses, but he realized he didn’t _need_ it. He didn’t need to be lost, distracted, or lulled this time. Because he wasn’t afraid of what came next. He was sure. He was excited.

He was ready.

“Harry,” he moaned. “Please. I want you inside me. Now.” A part of him couldn’t believe he was uttering these words, words he’d heard women say to him in some form or another, words he always welcomed hearing but would never let himself speak.

But the other part of him reveled in it, reveled in the shape of them on his lips, in the breathiness of their sounds, and in the way they made Harry utter a needy cry that was almost like a sob as one of his hands reached down to Draco’s entrance.

The blond heard the whispers of spells and felt the wetness of heavy lubrication inside of him, and then a finger began to probe, gently at first, before pushing forward and breaching him properly.

“Yes,” Draco breathed, and the finger went deeper, already brushing his sweet spot. “Yes, there. _Harry_.”

A second finger joined the first, and Draco felt that now-familiar sensation of being stretched and released, stretched and released, as Harry scissored inside his passage. Draco breathed through it, his lips rubbing lovingly across Harry’s cheek and jaw. He grunted when the third finger was added. This, in the past, was always the most uncomfortable bit, though he found even now that the burning stretch wasn’t nearly as intense, now that he’d had some practice with toys inside of him.

“You all right?” Harry asked him, his voice only a murmur.

“I’m wonderful,” Draco said honestly. “Keep going.”

Harry separated himself, rocking back on his heels, and Draco was about to protest. But Harry’s fingers never left him, and he realized what Harry was about to do just as he scooted back a bit on the bed and lowered his head to Draco’s pelvis and the semi-hard erection that was waiting there.

Draco looked down at him, watching lazily as Harry licked him further into life. He hadn’t been thinking about how hard he was before then, honestly. He’d been so focused on Harry, on the feel of him, that he hadn’t paid attention. He felt so good that he would have assumed he’d be fully erect.

He nearly was now, actually, under Harry’s ministrations. It was getting twitchingly good, this teasing, and he started to squirm, arching to encourage his erection to dip properly into Harry’s mouth. The brunet let out a slow, dark chuckle and took Draco in further. Draco whimpered in approval, running a hand gently through Harry’s hair to encourage him.

He loved that he could be wanton and needy for Harry, that that was exactly what Harry wanted from him. This was a kind of freedom in itself, and he couldn’t get enough of it. So he writhed, and curled his toes into the sheets, and thrust a little into Harry’s mouth, and said Harry’s name over and over, like a prayer.

Harry moaned loudly around his cock, sending Draco higher. The three fingers plunging inside him and the mouth around him were doing so much for him already that he was in danger of coming. And he didn’t want to come, not yet, and not like this. He wanted to come from Harry’s cock tormenting his prostate.

“Gods, Harry,” he said, when he really didn’t think he could take it. “Fuck me. Gods, _please_. Fuck me now. I need you.”

Harry pulled his mouth and fingers away simultaneously, leaving Draco suddenly, painfully bereft. He stared at the brunet who was staring at him, wondering what was going through his mind, wondering if this was hesitation or simply savoring the moment. When he couldn’t take it anymore Draco said, weakly, “Please.”

As though this were the signal he had been waiting for, Harry came closer, crawling towards Draco, rocking forward on his knees until he was directly above him, suspended. He lifted a hand and parted Draco’s legs even wider, then grabbed a pillow to place under Draco, at the small of his back.

“This all right, like this?” he asked.

Draco nodded vigorously, his heart pounding away with adrenaline and arousal. He needed this to happen, and he couldn’t wait any longer to haggle over positions. He didn’t care. “Go on.”

“You’re so bloody gorgeous,” Harry said. “I need to look at you while I’m fucking you.”

Draco swallowed. “Go on,” he said again. “Do it all, then. Anything you want.”

Still Harry just stared down at him, and Draco didn’t know what to do, growing increasingly bewildered. He could feel Harry’s erection bumping against his perineum, yet the brunet made no move to properly position himself. What was he waiting for?

“Harry?”

“There’s a chance I may not last very long,” Harry said, rather quickly. “With you, like this. And I’m so… I just might not… last. Just so you know.”

It really was, Draco realized, as if Harry was… _nervous._ Which was inexplicable. Because Harry had probably done this literally hundreds of times. And yet, here they were. After all this talk of wanting this so much, Harry was dawdling.

“It’s all right, Harry,” he said, finding it hard to believe that he was the one who had to be reassuring in this scenario. “We’ll just go slow, yeah?”

Harry smiled and leaned down to kiss Draco softly. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, of course.”

He didn’t pull away, only pressed on Draco’s thigh to roll him into position and then aligned himself by feel alone. All the while he watched Draco and Draco watched him, the subtle changes in the brunet’s expression as he teased along Draco’s opening and then, finally, began to push inside.

He went slow, inch by inch, giving Draco enough time to breathe and relax and be ready before entering further. With Draco’s eyes locked on Harry’s this became his only reality: deep green irises that never left him, the steady rhythm of breath followed by breath, and the burning sensation of being slowly filled.

His breaths were shaky, he knew. His hands were trembling as they ran along Harry’s shoulders. But he didn’t shy away; he didn’t close his eyes or turn his head. For this, he just let himself exist, open, exposed, and full.

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry said when he was finally seated inside him fully. The brunet’s head dipped, placing a kiss at his neck. Draco kept running his hands down Harry’s biceps and then back up to his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle, the smooth skin. He was almost aching with the intrusion. It was more than he had ever felt in his life. Yet still he was not afraid. He could feel the heat of Harry’s cock inside him, feel the twitching, pulsing need of it, and that alone was so arousing, so incredible, that he had no room in his heart or in his head for anything else.

Harry was _inside_ him. They were connected by the most intimate parts of themselves. It had never struck him this way before. But now…

“Draco,” Harry said again, and there was true need straining his voice.

“Yes,” said Draco, knowing exactly what Harry was waiting for. “Yes. Move. Please.”

Harry lifted his head and looked at him again. Then he pulled out, only by a few inches, and pushed back in again. Draco gasped and clutched him. Harry did it again.

“Is this…?” Harry didn’t quite finish the question, but Draco knew anyway.

“Yes. More.” He reached, straining his neck for a kiss, and Harry met him halfway. Their tongues slid along each other lazily for a moment before Draco pulled away. “Deeper,” he said. “Please.”

Harry obliged him, speeding up only a little but penetrating oh so thoroughly. The heat of this friction was strange, wonderful, and new, and Draco found himself meeting Harry’s steady thrusts, arching just so in a silent plea for more. Harry groaned and his thrusts sped up by another small increment. Harry’s left hand grabbed Draco’s right, intertwining their fingers together and then pinning them to the bed. Draco was momentarily distracted by that, how unexpectedly it connected him even _more_ to Harry. But then Harry hit his prostate dead on, and his focus was pulled right to that spot. He cried out.

“There, Harry!” he whined. “Just there.”

Harry moaned and aimed again, and it was perfect. Draco closed his eyes against the acute pleasure coursing through him.

“Oh, Gods,” he said. “Oh, _yes._ Harry, that’s… Gods, Harry, you’re so…”

But he couldn’t finish. He didn’t even have words for it.

“Open your eyes, Draco,” Harry commanded. “Please. Let me see you.”

The words didn’t quite penetrate at first, all his attention still focused on the way Harry moved so deliciously inside him. But they finally registered, enough that he could pry his eyelids open and get his fill of Harry’s flushed cheeks, vibrant eyes, ecstatic, gaping mouth.

“Harry.”

“Draco.”

Their mouths collided again, consuming each other messily as Harry thrust more forcefully inside him. Draco could feel Harry rolling his hips, going as deep as possible, and it made that hot, sizeable cock brush along Draco’s sweet spot over and over. Pleasure built on top of pleasure, getting sweeter and sweeter, more intense with each hit, so good he almost couldn’t take it.

Draco’s mouth broke away from Harry’s, gasping for air. He was paralyzed with pleasure. It lived in every cell of his body, and he couldn’t move for it. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

 _It can’t get better than this,_ he thought in a daze as he stared, disbelieving, into Harry’s eyes. _It’s almost as if…_

“Harry,” he gasped. “I think… I-I think that I-“

He came, shuddering, his nerves alight and every limb clutching himself to Harry, trying to find _some_ way to ground himself in it, absorb it somehow, so he wouldn’t simply combust and melt into a pile of goo.

Though abuzz with his recent, earth-shattering orgasm, he was still aware of Harry driving into him erratically, crying “Oh Gods, oh Gods, o _h Gods_!” in his ear before stilling inside him and holding him until it hurt. Draco grinned at the ceiling and found the will to grip him back, helping him move through his pleasure as the brunet came in a series of tight, trembling thrusts.

“Draco,” he murmured, his lips hot on Draco’s neck. “Draco.”

Draco really had melted, he felt. He was just sticky liquid, like glue, fused with everything around him: the sheets, the pillow under his back, and, most importantly, Harry. Olive skin had merged with pale ivory as they lay there, a single, tangled creature.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Harry said, after they’d had a few minutes to simply pant their previous exertions into the air. “You came untouched, your first time.” There was true awe in his voice.

“Is it a good thing, then?” Draco asked.

“Is it a good thing,” Harry repeated, the question so rhetorical that it didn’t even sound like a question. “It’s a bloody brilliant thing.” He lifted himself enough to look at Draco. “It’s a rare thing, in my experience. I’ve never been able to do it. But it’s unbelievably hot. You have no idea.”

 _Something I can do that Harry Potter can’t?_ Draco thought smugly for a moment. Although, in truth… “Seems like more an indication of your skills than mine,” he said, because he felt he had to. Harry had just given him a whole new understanding of the phrase “shagged senseless.”

Harry just laughed and kissed him. “No,” he said, sliding himself off Draco, just enough that the blond was no longer bearing his weight. “No, baby. That’s all you.”

Their legs stayed entangled as Harry sat up and grabbed the duvet. He pulled it over them, up to the middle of their waists, then nuzzled back into Draco, their bodies so close it was like they were fused again.

“Amazing,” Harry breathed, a hand coming to rest over Draco’s heart.

Draco was just able to reach his wand to cast the cleansing charms that Harry seemed to be forgetting, then extinguished the lamps with another wave. Harry hadn’t moved at all while he did this, perfectly content to be plastered against Draco’s side. Draco put a hand over Harry’s and closed his eyes.

_Amazing._


	14. Lesson 14: When to Walk Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2019! Your comments made the first few days of this year even more enjoyable for me, so thank you!
> 
> I'm sorry I'm starting us off on a sad note. It had to be done. The angst won't last forever, I promise. Let's just hold hands and get through it together.

Draco woke abruptly, and with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes darted around the room but he didn’t move otherwise, as he was resting on his side and felt the weight of an arm around his waist.

He wasn’t alone. 

He blinked and took a deep breath. He knew where he was.

So of  _course_ he wasn’t alone. He woke up next to Harry more than half his mornings these days. Harry’s bedroom was nearly as familiar as his own.

So why was his heart beating uncomfortably hard in his chest? Was it a nightmare he now couldn’t remember having? Did something startle him awake?

He lay there, still, listening. The only sounds were the ticking of Harry’s grandfather clock and the brunet’s soft, even breath behind him. He was safe. Everything was fine.

And yet there was a strange churning in his gut, a sense that something was off. But he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

He readjusted himself, turning over onto his back. Harry’s relaxed arm slid along his abdomen as he did, anchoring him to the bed. Draco grimaced as he felt a twinge of pain in his arse. It was a kind of soreness he’d never experienced before.

Which made perfect sense, considering what he had let Harry do to him for the first time the night before. What he had  _begged_ Harry to do to him.

He closed his eyes, and it was all there, in the forefront of his mind, memories hanging ripe for the plucking.

Harry’s nervous laughter as he asked if Draco was sure; Harry’s body pressed against his on the bed as fingers slowly opened him up; the fullness of Harry inside him; the slow thrusts; Harry intertwining their fingers as he stared into Draco’s eyes.

Draco coming from Harry’s cock alone, and the awe in Harry’s voice afterwards.

 _Amazing_.

It  _had_ been amazing. It had been eye-opening. It had been wonderful. Draco had fallen asleep only moments afterward, perfectly content, sated, happy.

And now he felt strange, as if something had changed. Which was ridiculous. Because while what they had done the night before was new, it wasn’t all that different from any of the other sex they’d had in the last six months. It was pleasurable and intense, like always. It wasn’t even all that physically different from when Harry put his fingers or a toy inside Draco. Yes, Harry’s cock was bigger than those things, so the sensations had been more powerful, more overwhelming, when Harry was fucking him but… that just didn’t account for it. It didn’t give any reasonable explanation for the knot in Draco’s stomach.

Fucking was fucking, no matter who was on top, wasn’t it?

Except what they had done the night before didn’t really feel like  _fucking_ , actually. It had felt like something else, something slow and sweet that used the L-word in dangerous ways that Draco would not let himself say, even in his own head.

Handholding and lazy, tender kisses and staring into each other’s eyes… No, it hadn’t really been like fucking at all.

Harry had been so gentle with him. He knew why, and it made sense. It being Draco’s first time, of course he would take it slow, letting him feel it out, adjust. Harry was considerate like that.

But now Draco was sort of wishing he hadn’t been, if only because it had, inevitably, deepened their connection even more. A connection he was starting to crave and fear in equal measure.

 _Calm down_ , he told himself.  _You’re being ridiculous._ Nothing had changed between this morning and the morning before, except that Draco now knew he liked bottoming. Useful information, that. Very useful.

 _Well, you like bottoming for_ Harry.  _But would you trust anyone else with something like that?_ Can  _you?_

Draco turned his head to the right and looked at his lover, who was still resting peacefully beside him, his shoulders rising and falling in a slow rhythm, his lips slightly parted, his dark, messy hair partially obscuring his eyes.

Could he trust anyone else? Could he want anyone else?

If the answer to either question was no, then he was in serious, serious trouble.

Draco swallowed and made himself continue to watch Harry as he slept. It was hard to keep looking, because that tugging was happening in his chest again, that homesickness that was growing more and more familiar with each passing week. That homesickness that Draco was realizing wasn’t homesickness at all.

It was simply longing. He longed for Harry, even when he had him right there, beside him.

He was in serious trouble indeed.

Part of him wanted to regret the night before. Part of him wanted to blame it all on finally giving himself to Harry in that way and opening up the possibility of feeling more than friendly affection for him. But he was no fool. If this longing was familiar it could only mean that he’d been feeling it in some form for months now, probably since as early as November, if he was honest, only the feeling wasn’t so strong, wasn’t so deeply rooted in him, back then.

Before it had likely been an affection, more than friendly, but something manageable at least. And now…

He turned his head away and closed his eyes, his heart beating wildly again.

 _Don’t panic._ He knew what it was, so there was really no point in examining it too closely. He knew.

But that didn’t matter, he told himself, taking deep, steady breaths. He didn’t need to put a name on what he felt. He just needed to figure out what he was going to  _do_ about it. He had options; he was not doomed to some particular fate. He had options.

He could tell Harry what was happening. As frightening as that thought was, Harry had always made him brave, and he could find a way. He could find a way to tell Harry that his feelings had become… romantic, that they had deepened to the point that Draco could see wanting to pursue something more, something real. He could tell Harry and see if he felt the same and-

He cut himself off with a choking breath, because really, who was he kidding? Other parts of their evening were coming back to him now, conversations he’d been privy to, had by friends who had watched Harry’s extensive dating history unfold before their eyes.

_He never gets serious with anyone._

_If you’re looking for monogamy, you have no business sleeping with Harry._

_A bloke can’t expect him to stick around. Those that do always wind up disappointed._

How many ways had Paul found to say that any real future with Harry was impossible? Draco hadn’t even flinched at the time either, because he  _knew_ all of this already. Because Harry had as good as told him that numerous times. He wasn’t ready to settle down. He wanted to have fun and focus on his teaching.

 _But he’s different with you_ , something inside of Draco insisted, almost pleadingly.  _You’ve been doing this for six months, and he’s not seeing anyone else. And you spend nearly all of your free time together. This is different than what he had with all those others._ You’re  _different. You’re… special._

He snorted aloud at that. Because hadn’t Paul and David said something about that too, about how Harry made people feel special and some of them believed it and let themselves fall for Harry? And who was Draco now, one of  _them_? He couldn’t be one of them: pathetic, pining, avoiding Harry at all costs so their longing, their craving for him didn’t absolutely overwhelm them.

No, he could not be one of them. He could not assume that what Harry felt for him was, somehow, miraculously different than anyone who came before, not when Harry hadn’t done or said anything to tell him otherwise. He wouldn’t be able to bear the look of sadness and pity on Harry’s face when he had to let Draco down gently, tell him he was sorry, and then suggest that maybe they should end things and just be friends.

No, he could not bear that. He could not bear rejection, not so soon after Astoria. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t strong enough, to handle that feeling again. Which meant he couldn’t tell Harry.

So, Option One, out.

If he wasn’t going to tell Harry, did that mean he should just let things keep going as they had been? Things were so good between them, so easy. The sex was still incredible, and they enjoyed each other’s company in other ways too. Draco didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose what had become such an important connection in his life.

But Draco also knew what would happen if they kept going like this. His feelings would deepen further. His need, his longing, for Harry would become more intense. And then what? Was he just going to stand around, keeping a tight hold on his feelings, waiting for some sign that Harry was starting to feel the same? That could take forever, go on indefinitely, or at least until Harry got tired of him and moved onto someone else.

That would be even worse than being outright rejected now. After all that time, all that pining and hoping. It would be devastating.

And he had to remember that their monogamy was circumstantial and wouldn’t last forever. It was nearing the end of April; there were barely six weeks to go until the end of the term, and then it would be summer. And Harry’s schedule would open up considerably, and he could see other people again. He would, no doubt. He went out a few times a week, he had said, in the summer. And it wouldn’t only be with Draco. Draco would be a fool to believe otherwise, especially since the rules they had put in place (the rules Draco had insisted on) meant that they wouldn’t go out in public anyway, since it would out Draco and make him have to face his family in a way he wasn’t ready to yet.

Why would Harry put up with that, when he could have any other fit gay bloke he wanted to go dancing or picnicking with? What did Draco have to offer, compared to that freedom, that ease, that was so important to Harry? Draco could already feel the way Harry was losing patience with him in that regard, tired of being stuck in their rooms together. Harry was growing bored of it, restless. So of course he would jump at the chance to be with other people, once his schedule allowed it.

And Draco would just have to be silent and live with it, perhaps find some other lovers on his own, to fill the void.

That was no way to live a life. That was no way to be in a relationship. It wasn’t a relationship at all, not when it was so full of  _not saying_ , so devoid of actual honesty.

What a fool he was. A sad, stupid fool. All this not saying, all this avoidance of his own feelings, and look where it had gotten him. He should have acknowledged it sooner, so he could spare himself this.

All the signs had been there: the fluttering in his chest whenever Harry smiled, the constant pull towards him, the unexpected moments of jealousy over other men, and the  _craving_ Draco felt, all the time, that was only satisfied when Harry was near.

He’d been near Harry so much, he’d managed to ignore it. He’d managed to pretend it was something else.

 _It’s hard not to get swept up in Harry_ , David had said, and he was right. Draco was swept up, and it had made him blind. Or perhaps he’d simply believed he was safe from those feelings, because really, how could he even be capable of falling for someone after what Astoria had done? He’d never thought he could let his walls down enough for that, not so soon, not after only a year.

But Harry was good at dismantling walls. That had been true from the beginning. So Draco probably should have seen it coming.

 _Idiot_ , he chastised himself.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He knew what he had to do. It was just a matter of being strong enough to do it.

He turned to look at Harry again and realized immediately it was a mistake. The pull was strong; he could feel it now. He knew already the warmth that Harry radiated in sleep, the kind that welcomed you in, wrapped you up inside it. He knew that Harry’s jaw would be just a little rough as it nuzzled at the sensitive skin of Draco’s neck, that it would make Draco shiver and arch in a silent plea for more. He knew how Harry’s hands liked to explore blindly under the covers, fingers tough with callouses but so gentle in their searching. They would always find their mark in the end, working their own kind of magic.

Gods, but it was so tempting. It would be so easy. He could roll towards Harry, burrowing closer until he awoke and gave Draco one of those devilish grins that always made Draco weak. He would kiss Draco, slowly, lazily, like they had all the time in the world. And Draco could surrender to it and just go on pretending.

It would be so easy. Which was exactly why he couldn’t let himself do it.

He knew what he had to do. And if he was going to do it, he needed to do it now, while Harry was still asleep.

As gently and quietly as he could, Draco lifted the covers and slid out from underneath Harry’s arm. Harry barely reacted, only grunting a little and clenching his hand in the vacated sheets. Draco placed both bare feet softly on the floor and stood.

It took quite a bit of effort to find all of his clothes. They’d both undressed in a passionate flurry the night before, and the various garments were scattered all over the floor, his tangled up with Harry’s. He tiptoed naked about the room, at least until he found his underwear, which Harry had managed to fling to the other side of the room and which had hid themselves partially under the large oak dresser. He scrambled to put those on, then set about detangling his button-down shirt from his jumper. It was ridiculously wrinkled but he put it on anyway, having no other choice. At least with the jumper pulled on over it again it didn’t so obviously look like he was wearing yesterday’s clothes.

Harry started stirring just as Draco was pulling on his trousers. Draco hurriedly buckled his belt and then started scouring the carpet for his one missing sock, his heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest. He’d wanted to be fully dressed for this. He wanted everything on before he… 

His eyes searched frantically. Where was that damn sock? He had everything else, he just needed the-

“Draco?” Harry’s voice was rough with sleep. Draco froze, staring as his (soon to be ex) lover as he rolled over onto his back and gave a big stretch, accompanied by a deep and satisfied groan. Harry’s arms flopped back down on the bed again and their eyes met. “What are you doing up? I thought we both had the morning off.”

“I’ve realized I’ve gotten way behind on my marking,” Draco answered, aware that his voice sounded rushed and a bit out of breath. “There’s a whole stack of essays I’ve got to get back to my 7th years by tomorrow. I really should get started.”

“Oh.” Harry sat up, stretching some more. They stared at each other a moment, then Draco decided to resume looking for the sock. “I thought we’d… have some time. I’m not on duty until dinner, you know.”

“I know,” Draco replied, his eyes still scouring the floor. “I just remembered it, just now.”

“All right…”

Draco could tell that Harry was confused, but he chose not to focus on it. He bent down, checking under the bed again for good measure, and by some luck he spotted it, hiding balled up behind the base of the left bedpost. He grabbed it, shook it out, and balanced awkwardly on one leg to put it on.

Just shoes now, just his shoes, and he would be ready. He could do this.

“Well, would you like some company?” Harry was saying now, still watching him from the bed. “I could stand to do some work as well, if you’re going to anyway. We could have the elves bring us a big breakfast, sit by the fire-“

“That… sounds nice,” said Draco, bending to tie his shoes. “But I…” Merlin, how did he do this? How would he find it in him to do this? “I think it would just be distracting, honestly. I really have a lot to do.”

“Oh.” He could tell Harry was disappointed, maybe even a little hurt, but he didn’t know what he could do about that, other than press onward.

He stood, fully dressed now, ready to walk out the door when he’d said what he needed to say. 

_It’s now or never._

“Actually… the truth is, I…” He draped his jacket over his arm, playing with one of the sleeves while he tried to find the right words. His lips felt strange and numb, and he bit the bottom one between his teeth, hard, just to try and get some feeling back into it. “I’ve been thinking. About this. About us. And I’ve…” He glanced up at Harry to find the brunet’s brow furrowed as he watched Draco intently. “I’ve decided that… I really feel that it’s time for us to end it. The sex, I mean. The lessons.”

Harry blinked at him, looking taken aback. Not that Draco could blame him. He knew that it would seem completely out of the blue. And Harry was hardly aware of the entire crisis Draco had just gone through when he woke up that morning.

“Oh.” It sounded more like an exhale than a word, coming out of Harry’s mouth this time.

“It just seems like this… arrangement has run its course. I mean, we’ve done so much… You’ve taught me so much and… last night really just felt like the final lesson I needed, you know? So I think it’s best if we leave it here.”

Harry adjusted himself on the bed, his shoulders rolling restlessly, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Did I…” He met Draco’s eyes. “Did I do something wrong? Was last night too soon for you? Should I have-“

“No,” Draco interjected. “No. That’s not it at all. Last night was great. It was…”  _Amazing. Revelatory. Perfect._ “It was great. I learned a lot.” He bit back a grimace, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, how entirely inadequate it was to capture the experience. But this was part of what he needed to do. He needed to distance himself from it. “But that’s just it, you know? I’ve learned a lot, but I can’t be a student forever. At some point I’ve got to go out and use what I’ve learned. And I’m ready for that. To put my education to good use, so to speak.” He tried for a wry smile, but it felt brittle on his lips.

And Harry clearly wasn’t buying it. He simply stared at Draco, his face like stone.

“And Merlin knows you have a whole slew of neglected lovers waiting for your return,” Draco went on, trying to find some way to lighten the mood, try to put even the ghost of a smile on Harry’s face. “They’ve probably been pining away for you this whole time. I’m sure you don’t want to keep them waiting any longer than you have to.”

That didn’t work either, though. Harry’s lips didn’t even twitch. His eyes dropped to his hands, which were resting in his lap, and they remained there as he remained silent.

 _Shit._ This was coming out all wrong. Draco knew he was sounding way too cavalier. He had wanted to appear unaffected. He wanted Harry not to have to worry that Draco wouldn’t be all right without his guidance. But it just wasn’t right, was it? Not after everything they had shared with one another. He closed his eyes, mustering the courage to speak from the heart, to say what Harry most needed to hear.

“This meant a great deal to me. I hope you know that.” His voice was quiet, but it still carried. He could tell Harry was hearing him, because the brunet looked up again. “I don’t know what this year would have been like without you. I’m sure I would have survived it but… I wouldn’t have enjoyed it nearly as much. I wouldn’t know myself so well as I do now. I’m not sure I even know how to tell you…” He swallowed, frustrated now that he was getting too emotional. His hands were shaking, and he hid them under his jacket. He made himself look at Harry. The brunet looked back, hanging on his every word, and Draco found it in him to keep going. “I meant what I said. You’re amazing. You understood what I needed before I did. You changed my life. So thank you.” He dropped his gaze again, unable to help it. “I don’t know what I would have done without you, but that’s the very reason that I need to move on. I need to move forward, to what’s next for me. I hope you can understand. I have to move on. I have to.”

Harry’s gaze finally softened, and Draco did see understanding there, though there was no happiness in it. “Of course,” he said. “You’re right. A person has to… has to move forward. And if this is what you need, to- to do that then… I respect it. Of course.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, feeling relief and disappointment warring inside him. He was relieved that Harry had replied at all, and that he seemed to understand. But his response had been so formal, and he hadn’t said anything about what it had meant to him, these past six months. Draco had laid bare how important to him this little relationship of theirs had been, and now Harry wasn’t giving him anything in return?

It was a stark reminder of how Harry had been here before, many times. He’d probably had some version of this conversation more times than he could count, with all those lovers that had come and gone over the years.

Draco wasn’t special, which of course he knew already. But still, it stung, to be reminded. 

_What did you expect, for him to fight for you? For him to beg you to stay?_

He realized he’d been holding onto a foolish hope that maybe he  _had_ been special to Harry, after all. But he wasn’t. Of course not.

It hurt, but in some ways it made it easier. Draco was doing the right thing, he was sure now, and he’d already done the hardest part. He’d said the words aloud, and Harry had accepted them. So now all he had to do was walk away.

But instead he just stood there.

“It’s not as though this has to change much, right?” he found himself saying. “We agreed to be friends afterward, so…”

Harry nodded his head once, his hands brushing along his thighs absently. “That’s true.”

“So, I’ll see you at dinner, then?”

“Right. Dinner,” Harry replied. His voice sounded a bit flat, but he looked at Draco and gave him another nod, almost as if in reassurance. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.” Draco chewed on his lip, then nodded a few times. He needed to will his feet to move. He needed to turn and go.

He closed his eyes. That was the only way. Because there was still something inside him, the part that had already let Harry burrow in deep, that was screaming at him, even now, that he didn’t have to do this, that all this could be undone.

_Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Tell him you want him, all of him. Whatever he’ll give you._

He closed his eyes and turned, and then his feet were moving him.

_Go back. Go back. Go back. Go back._

His eyes were open again and he could see the door.

_Go back! For the love of all that is magical in this world turn around and tell him you’ve made a mistake!_

“No,” he whispered, just loud enough for himself to hear. He was out of the bedroom now. He’d already done the hardest part. Just a few more steps and-

He swung the door open and was met with the dusty morning light of the Defense corridor. The door closed with a  _thunk_ behind him, and it sounded so loud, in the sleepy quietness of the castle. There was a finality in it that made dread pool heavy in his stomach.

_Shit. Shit shit shit. What have I done?_

He took a shaky breath. 

 _What you had to do_ , he told himself.  _You did what you know you would always have to do, and you did it before you got in too deep, before it would be impossible to do._

That did make him feel a bit better, actually. This pain and despair was temporary, and he knew if he had waited any longer it would have only been worse. He had spared himself.

He started walking. He needed a shower, to wash away the last remnants of Harry on his skin. And then he would have a light breakfast, get some work done, and get used to the idea that school would be his focus now.

It was good thing. It was time to put his students first, to put his work first. He had been consumed by Harry, really, these past months. It had taken too much of his focus anyway, too much of his time. He would have so much more  _time_ now, and that was a gift.

And really, what had he been thinking, considering an actual  _relationship_ with Harry? Something out in the open? Something that would fall under daily scrutiny from the entire wizarding world, something that would undoubtedly out him to his parents and potentially ruin his best marriage prospects? 

Because it wouldn’t last, he and Harry. Even if Harry had been willing to give it a try, they wanted different things. They were at different places in their lives. Draco had wanted to move on from Astoria, and he’d done that quite effectively. It may not be long off that he was ready to start dating women again, look for something serious, monogamous, that could turn into something real. 

Harry might have been open to the idea of monogamy, but marriage? Children? Draco could only imagine how Harry would shudder and look longingly at the door, ready to run, at the mention of those things.

 _I’m not ready for that yet,_ he had said. And Draco, when he met the right person, would be ready. He would want to take the next step. How long would Draco have had to wait around for Harry to decide he was ready?

No, this was for the best. There were so many reasons that he and Harry would never work. He had done the right thing.

He looked up to realize that he was already standing in front of the door to his quarters. He’d barely noticed where he was going, so lost in thought as he was. He gave the password and went inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

He started to undress, aware that he still smelled like sex, like Harry. Flashes of the previous night inundated him a moment: the sounds they made, the taste of Harry’s mouth, the way Harry felt inside him-

Draco shed the last of his clothes in a hurry and made for the bathroom. The sooner the smell was gone, the sooner the memories wouldn’t be so visceral. 

He stood under the spray and breathed in and out for a long time. There was an undeniable, familiar ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away, no matter how deeply he inhaled or how slowly he exhaled.

_Shit shit shit shit shit._

It hurt. It fucking hurt. He put his hands on the wall and leaned into it, bowing his head and letting the hot water cascade down his back.

Inhale deeply. Exhale slowly. Repeat.

He would survive this. He had survived much worse than this. It was just a matter of time. It was just a matter of continuing to breathe.

***

Draco followed the plan for his day, or tried to, at any rate. He finished his shower, ordered tea and toast from a house elf, and extracted a small stack of essays that still needed marking. The 7th year essay he’d mentioned to Harry as an excuse had been fictional, but there was always work to be done, and Draco figured he might as well take some time to do it.

He didn’t get very far. He was having a hard time focusing.

When he arrived at dinner Francesca and Harry were sitting together at the staff table, so Draco went to join them. He wasn’t exactly sure how this whole “being friends” thing was going work out, considering that just seeing Harry was going to make Draco want to jump him, but he was determined to try. They’d made an agreement. And considering that Draco was the one to break off the arrangement, it was only right that he should make an effort, since this was important to Harry.

Still, he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it. One day at a time, he supposed.

Francesca greeted him with a smile and immediately asked about his weekend. Draco told her about it, choosing to be vague on the details, then immediately got her talking about the end of the school year and her summer plans. As Francesca expressed her excitement in getting to return to Tuscany, Draco took a covert glance at Harry, who so far hadn’t said a word. The man was staring at his plate, slicing his roast chicken up into very small pieces but not appearing to eat any of it.

Draco kept his gaze on him, willing him to look up. It was possible he was simply listening intently to Francesca, lost in her description of the rolling hills and fields of sunflowers, but Draco didn’t quite think so. Harry usually liked to make eye contact to show he was listening. He was usually more engaged with his conversation than he ever was with his food.

 _Look at me_.

“You should  _come_ to Tuscany!” Francesca said, nudging Draco lightly with her elbow and getting his attention once more. “This summer, for a week or two, perhaps. The estate has a lovely little guest villa and you would be very comfortable. You both should come.” She looked between Harry and Draco, her features bright with the novelty of her idea.

“That’s a lovely thought,” said Draco. “I’ve never been to Italy.”

“Oh, you would love it. We can relax, eat delicious food, enjoy the countryside. We can go into Florence and see the sights too, if you like.”

“I would. Let me get a sense of my summer and see if something can be arranged.”

“Perfect,” she beamed at him. “What about you, Harry? Would you care to come along?”

Harry chewed slowly and then swallowed, finally looking up at her. “It does sound lovely,” he said. “But I think my summer is going to be quite a full one. I’ve got the renovators redoing an entire floor of my house, plus I have a lot of people to catch up with. Just not sure I could take so much time off.”

“Even just a week?” Francesca pressed. “Or a few days? At least overlap with Draco’s visit.”

“I really don’t think it’s doable,” Harry said with finality. “But I’m sure you and Draco will have a wonderful time.” He gave her a flimsy smile and returned his gaze to his plate.

Francesca sat stunned a moment, as if unsure what to say. She opened her mouth, but Harry turned his head suddenly and asked Gibbs, who was sitting next to him, about his summer plans, effectively cutting off any response Francesca might have given. 

The witch turned and gave Draco a look of utter bewilderment. He looked back at her, thinking perhaps his expression seemed a bit guilty, because something solidified in her expression. He could tell she wanted to ask what the hell that was, what was going on between himself and Harry, but thankfully she knew better than to bring it up in their present company. She simply returned to her dinner silently, and Draco did the same.

***

Harry wouldn’t look at him. It was becoming a definite trend as the week wore on. It wasn’t that they never interacted. They spoke, mostly about professional obligations, but also about trivial personal things. Harry would answer if Draco asked him a question. He would greet Draco at meals if they happened to be sitting near each other. But he would never meet Draco’s eyes, not quite.

It wasn’t nearly as blatant as that first day, at dinner, when Harry barely acknowledged Draco’s presence. But it was obvious to Draco. He saw it every day. He watched for it, to see if Harry would finally manage to make eye contact. He didn’t.

 _So much for not making this awkward,_ Draco thought to himself, unable to help the pinch of hurt he felt when it became clear that Harry was putting some distance between them. They had agreed to be friends. Apparently Harry didn’t have a problem breaking, or at least severely bending, that agreement.

Draco didn’t confront him about it, though. Mostly because he didn’t know what he’d say. And perhaps because there was some part of him that was relieved. It was easier, really, to have distance. If Harry didn’t look at him then Draco didn’t have to look at Harry. If they only interacted at mealtimes or in the corridors, surrounded by others, then there was never any danger of Draco slipping up, of sharing his true feelings. It was easier this way. He wouldn’t say it was  _better_ , because a part of him missed Harry so much he thought he might scream. A part of him longed for some semblance, some shadow, of what they had before.

It wasn’t better, no. But it was easier.

To the untrained eye things between Harry and Draco might not have seemed all that different. They spoke less, sure, but it was all very friendly. Only someone who knew them as well as Francesca did, who knew their secret and had been paying attention, could notice the difference.

It took her over a week to confront Draco about it, which surprised him. He was expecting her to question him after that first strange conversation over dinner. Yet she waited, perhaps to observe them some more, to be sure that her suspicions were correct. And then, when she  _was_ sure, she made her move.

Dinner had finished fifteen minutes ago, and Draco was slated to begin his patrol. He had just turned into the Charms corridor when he felt an arm hook through his.

“Evening, Draco,” Francesca said. “Care for a walk?”

“I have patrol actually,” Draco replied, turning to look at her. He saw a firm determination in her eyes that told him he wasn’t going to get out of this so easily. 

“In that case, I think I saw a couple of Hufflepuffs sneak off in the direction of the astronomy tower. Surely they’re up to something. I think we ought to go investigate.”

Rolling his eyes but realizing the inevitable, Draco agreed. He could begin his patrol in the astronomy tower and work his way down. He only hoped Francesca didn’t keep him up there too long, bending his ear about his split with Harry. It would interfere with his teacher duties and, more importantly, he simply wasn’t in the mood to discuss it. 

They chatted idly as they made their way up, passing a number of students who were enjoying their time before curfew. They had to pause in their walk, in fact, to reprimand a snogging couple who thought they’d found privacy in an alcove by the astronomy tower stairs and didn’t realize they were being a bit too…  _noisy_. Draco didn’t have the heart to give them detention, though, so he let them off with a warning, causing Francesca to accuse him of being “soft.”

Draco stiffened at that but made no comment, instead leading her up the winding stairs of the tower in silence.

Draco avoided this particular tower when he could, for obvious reasons. But luckily he had found that over the course of the year memories of the fateful night of Dumbledore’s demise had become timeworn and blurry, and no longer caused the acute pain of guilt that he used to feel so sharply. It wasn’t a hardship to stand here now, looking over the grounds as the sun began its descent below the trees. It was a lovely evening, actually, pleasantly warm and with but the lightest of breezes dancing about them as they rested their arms on the tower wall and looked at the sky.

“Harry won’t tell me a thing,” Francesca said, interrupting his thoughts, “other than that you’ve split up. But he won’t say any more about it.”

“So perhaps I should respect his obvious interest in discretion and say nothing about it as well,” Draco replied lightly, still staring out at the trees.

“ _Draco_.”

“We haven’t  _split up,_ ” Draco said, uninterested in hearing any whinging about his coyness. “It’s not like that.”

“You haven’t? But Harry said you had.”

“Were those the exact words he used?”

She thought a moment. “If you’re going to get picky about it, I believe his exact words were that you two were ‘no longer involved.’”

“Well, there you are then. That’s entirely different.”

She scoffed. “No, it isn’t.”

“It is,” Draco insisted. “’Split up’ implies that we were together, which we weren’t. We were just  _fucking_. It wasn’t serious.”

He saw Francesca blanche out of the corner of his eye and felt a bit guilty. She wasn’t used to him being so crass.

“It was a fling, Francesca. I know you thought it was more, but it wasn’t. It was a way for Harry to get his jollies regularly with someone easily within reach and it was a way for me to get over my divorce. We were essentially using each other.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Francesca said. “Harry cares about you, I can tell.”

Draco looked at her. “I never said he didn’t care.” Honestly, why did people always assume, just because the two of them hadn’t committed to each other for life and were choosing just to sleep together temporarily, that it meant they didn’t  _care_? It was possible to do both. “I know he cares about me. Just not in the way you think.”

“He’s not being himself at all,” she argued. “I’ve never seen him like this, Draco. He’s upset.”

“I think he is a bit angry with me,” Draco conceded. “I did end it rather abruptly, and I think he was offended, maybe.”

“ _Offended_ ,” Francesca repeated incredulously. “Try heartbroken.”

Draco shook his head, though he could tell by the tone of her voice that arguing it would be pointless. “I thought he hadn’t told you anything about it.”

“He hasn’t. But I’ve known him going on six years now. He’s my friend. I _know_ him. And he’s not himself. He avoids meals whenever he doesn’t have to be there, he’s closed off, he rarely smiles, and he keeps making excuses not to spend time with me. I think he’s been leaving the grounds a lot, actually. Most nights he doesn’t have patrol.”

“Then he’s going on dates,” said Draco, hating himself a little for the painful squeeze of jealousy he felt in his gut. “He’s sleeping with other people. That’s where he’s going, which is what he’s always done in the years since you’ve known him, isn’t it?”

Francesca was silent for a while, and Draco thought perhaps he finally had her stymied. But not so, it turned out. “Still,” she said, making Draco heave a deep sigh, “just because he’s going out and sleeping with other men now doesn’t mean he isn’t heartbroken.”

“We were never exclusive. Harry was very clear about that from the beginning. He doesn’t do monogamy.”

“So he was seeing other people while you were together?”

“Maybe,” Draco hedged. He knew Harry hadn’t been. He’d told Draco as much, come Christmas time. And after the holidays they were together so much that it was virtually impossible that Harry was dating other people. But still, they weren’t exclusive. “We didn’t talk about it.”

“Sounds like there was a lot you didn’t talk about,” Francesca replied, almost accusingly.

“I don’t really see how it’s any of your business,” Draco said, feeling defensive.

Francesca put a hand gently on his arm and said, her tone softened now, “It is because you two are my closest friends at Hogwarts, and I want to see you happy.”

“I’m perfectly happy,” Draco said curtly.

“Oh, Draco,” Francesca said. “No, you’re not. You’re more miserable now than you were when you first arrived here in September.”

“That’s not true,” Draco insisted to her. “I was just good at hiding it, because I’d been coping with it for a while. But you have no idea what toll my divorce took on me, how badly it messed me up. I was an absolute mess.”

Francesca sighed. “I know it was awful, what happened,” she said. “With the… the baby, and all. But at least you… I just think what you had with Harry has to be different, given your sexuality, the fact that you actually  _could_ fall in love with him. After a marriage of convenience like what you had before… This would be worse now, wouldn’t it? More difficult?”

 _Shit_. He had forgotten his little lie of omission from a few months ago. Francesca believed him gay. It hadn’t come up again, until now, so he had forgotten it.

“You’re making a lot of assumptions,” he said. “You’re assuming I did fall in love with Harry and that I never loved Astoria. Well, you have it completely the wrong way around.”

When she didn’t reply, Draco turned to look at her. “I’m bisexual, Francesca, not gay.”

“Oh.”

“I let you believe otherwise before. I’m sorry about that, that I didn’t correct you. I didn’t think it mattered.”

“No,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. “You just thought I couldn’t handle the truth. You thought I was too fragile to hear that it simply was that you weren’t attracted to me.”

“I would never a million years believe you were  _fragile_ ,” said Draco. “I simply don’t enjoy hurting other people’s feelings, particularly someone who I regard and care for as I do you,” he added, his tone softer.

Francesca huffed, leaning away from him a bit. “I could have handled the truth.”

“I know that. I’m sorry. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Draco waited, hoping she would accept the apology. But instead she said, “I have to rethink all of this now. I had such a clear picture in my head of how things were.”

“Yes. The situation isn’t what it appeared.”

“I still think Harry loves you. And you love him.”

“No,” said Draco. “It’s simply not so.”

“Are you certain of that? I mean… before you throw it all away, are you absolutely certain?”

Draco bit back a sigh. He really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “I’m absolutely certain that it doesn’t make a bit of difference  _how_ we feel about each other, because it would never work between us. He was never the person I was supposed to end up with.”

“And why not?” Francesca challenged.

“Well, besides the fact that he wants to date around and isn’t interested in settling down, there’s the fact that he’s half-blood and, you know…  _male._ ”

Francesca’s expression hardened. “Is that you talking, or your father?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You’re still stuck on that, are you? The expectations of your parents that you’ll marry a pureblood woman? I thought you’d let go of that, after all your talk of being out from under your father’s thumb now you’re lord of the manor. You were quite giddy about it when we returned from the Christmas holidays. I suppose that was all talk, though, in the end.”

Draco turned to her, his jaw set. He was getting properly angry now. “This is not about me being under my father’s thumb. I always intended to end up with a woman. If not a pureblood, then fine. I’ll fight that battle if I have to, though I’m not particularly looking forward to it. But I’m going to choose a woman, once I’m ready. That was the plan all along.”

“But  _why_? To avoid having to come out?”

“That’s part of it…” Draco said, though that didn’t sound quite right, actually. “I don’t know. Maybe not. I don’t know. I don’t want to be someone I’m not, but… I suppose if I can avoid it, I would like to. I’m not saying I’ll absolutely deny that part of myself, to those I actually trust, like you and my other friends. But it’s different with my parents. It’s a whole new kind of battle. There’s a chance they’ll stop speaking to me altogether.”

“And that would be their loss, not yours.”

“This is all easy for you to say, you know, Francesca,” he said. “You’re straight  _and_ you’re pursuing a respectable pureblood man who your parents will no doubt approve of. You said it yourself about Longbottom, didn’t you? ‘Kind, intelligent, and a pureblood to boot?’” he quoted. “’The total package,’ I believe your exact words were.”

She turned away, staring out at the darkening landscape below them. He had her there, and they both knew it, though he found he was taking very little satisfaction from it, actually. 

“Yes, all right,” she said quietly, after a time. “I cannot deny that Neville’s blood status is convenient. It was never a deal-breaker; I would fancy him regardless. But knowing that it would be easier, that my mother especially would be more accepting…” She trailed off.

“Your father doesn’t care as much?” Draco asked.

“He’s always respected my choices, though he does so quietly, so as not to cause conflict with my mother. But I don’t think he would care who I married, if it were just down to him.”

Draco nodded. That sounded much like his own mother and father, only with the roles reversed.

“I was contracted to be married,” Francesca said, surprising him. “When I was nineteen. It was to a Beauxbatons graduate a few years older than I. I barely knew him, and when I met him I wasn’t taken with him at all. I don’t think he was particularly drawn to me either. It was all extremely awkward. We’d go on these chaperoned dates, long walks about the countryside, mostly. And afternoon tea with our parents and his sisters…”

Draco smiled knowingly. He was familiar with the strict and formal rules when it came to the courting of one’s betrothed. It was odd that there was courting at all, he always thought, considering that the wedding plans were already being made. It was just a show, really, in the end, a way to make it seem as though the betrothed were choosing each other when they in fact had no choice in the matter at all. 

“I couldn’t bear it,” Francesca went on. “I refused to go through with it.” She paused, lost in thought for a moment.

“You made the choice?” Draco asked, gently prodding her to continue.

She turned to him with a slow and elegant twist of her neck. “I did what Rafael wasn’t brave enough to do. He would have married me, to please our parents. But I decided that their approval wasn’t worth it. And there was so much else I wanted to do before I married. I wanted to travel. I wanted to finish my mastery. And then I discovered that I wanted to teach. I know I wouldn’t have gotten to do all that I wanted to do if I had married him. I wouldn’t be who I am if I had married him.”

“You wanted to be free.”

“Yes. That was the most important thing to me. It still is, actually. It’s just that freedom means something a bit different to me now. I want to find a partner, but I still want the freedom to find the right person for me, someone I could really love and who is suited to me. My father understands, though I can tell he’s getting impatient. And my mother never ceases to mention it when I’m home. I’m already twenty-eight, you know. Practically a pureblood spinster in the making.” She said it bitterly, like she was quoting something she had heard many times.

“Twenty-eight isn’t very old at all,” said Draco.

“I know,” she replied. “I’ve plenty of time. And it’s only in the past year that I’ve even felt ready to think about marriage and family. But they’ve always seen it differently and have felt no reason not to tell me so. I try not to let it get to me, I really do...”

“But sometimes you can’t help it,” Draco finished for her.

“Yes,” she agreed, giving him a small smile. “Those things do affect you, in the end, even when you try not to let them. So I suppose a part of me has always thought how nice and convenient it would be to bring home a pureblood, someone really wonderful that my parents would embrace easily. I’m not proud of it; I know it’s wrong. I like to believe that if the person I found was a Muggleborn or something that I would fight tooth and nail for him anyway. If he was the one for me, then it would be worth it.”

“But you can see where I’m coming from, can’t you?” said Draco. “You know better than anyone else here the kind of pressure I’m under, even now. So if I decide that I want to find a female partner, in the end, to avoid all that hardship, is that really so bad? In the same way you’ve sought out purebloods, in the hopes of getting back in your mother’s good graces. Is that really so wrong?”

“No, it’s not…  _wrong_ , Draco, but it does limit you. It’s stopping you from having something really great with Harry, isn’t it, that line of thinking?”

“There’s so much more to it than that.”

“It’s only that I would love to see you live your life on your own terms, rather than your parents’. You’re in a position to do that now and I… I  _want_ that for you.”

“It can’t be Harry Potter,” Draco said emphatically, and he heard a sharp intake of breath from her. He stared at his hands a moment, considering what he wanted to say. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to think about what I really want, and if being out as bisexual is an important part of that. But I have to decide that for myself, not because someone else needs me to come out in order to be with them. And to be with Harry Potter in any real way means not only being out but being constantly in the spotlight. He’s still in the papers regularly, and if it were  _me_ he was out with, the press would be rabid with it. I’d never get a moment’s peace. We’d be a spectacle. And I can’t do that. I can’t put up with that when I can’t even trust that it would last, that he could really even be happy committing to me. Because I don’t want to force him into something he doesn’t want either.” He sighed. “In the end we’re just too… different, I think.”

“But what if he does want to commit, and you just don’t realize it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Draco. “It’s not what I want. I don’t want any of that. I want something different. I just have to figure out exactly what.”

They were silent a little while longer, at least until Draco realized that the sun had fully set and he really did need to get back on patrol now. He’d let the conversation go on for far too long. He was about to say as much to Francesca when she broke the silence.

“Only you can know what it is you really want, in the end. I just hope you’re choosing not to be with Harry because it really is that you don’t want him, and not just because you’re afraid.”

Draco nodded. “I am. I know what I want. It isn’t him.” At this point, he didn’t even know if it was a lie or not.

“All right, then,” she said. “I’ll say no more about it.”

He gave her a small smile, mostly just relieved that she was dropping it. He offered her his elbow. “Shall I walk you to your quarters? I’d love to hear how you’re getting on with Longbottom these days.”

She huffed a small laugh and hooked her arm through his. “Yes,” she said softly. “All right.”

***

The final month of the term was the busiest Draco had seen yet, though he was hardly surprised. All of his students were stressed and fatigued trying to revise for their exams, with the 5th and 7th years feeling the worst of it as OWLs and NEWTs were now on the horizon. Draco found himself swamped with work as well, as he still had regular marking to do, plus final exams to write and a few research theses to read and notate from the 7th years who were planning on pursuing Potions masteries the next year. A number of those 7th years had applied to apprentice under him specifically as well, and so Draco also had to review those applications and choose one or two students to take on for next year. And for those he would reject he also felt obligated to write recommendation letters, so that they could find apprenticeships elsewhere, with other Potions masters.

Draco was seeing that at this time of year it was not uncommon for the teachers to take most of their meals in their quarters in order to maximize their work time, only attending meals when they were on duty and therefore obligated to do so. Draco followed this same practice in those final weeks, as he really did need that extra time. And it had the added benefit of making it very easy to avoid Harry.

He had well embraced it by this point; the two of them would not be friends anytime soon. Draco hardly ever saw Harry anymore, as their meal duties rarely overlapped and Draco spent nearly all of the rest of his time in his classroom or in his rooms. And, if Francesca was to be believed, Harry was still leaving the grounds regularly on his nights off.

It was hard to swallow the bitterness in his mouth when she shared that. It was hard for him not to comment on what a quick turn-around that was, and how Harry was clearly the type not to waste any time, and how did he even have the time or energy for such activities in the first place, what with all the teachers were carrying on their shoulders at the moment. But he didn’t say any of that, mostly because he knew he had no leg to stand on. He had told Harry to go back to his other lovers. He had been the one to end it, to drive him away. And he could hardly blame Harry for wanting to do something fun, something that would help alleviate the stress a bit.

He couldn’t blame him, not really. Yet somehow he managed to. Because here Draco was, alone and overworked, knowing he had done this to himself. He’d love to find some stress relief, and Harry would be the perfect person to relieve it, in fact. Except for the part where if Draco allowed himself to be with Harry again, he was only dooming himself to disappointment and heartbreak. And he was hardly going to do that, now was he?

He didn’t let himself think of it most of the time. The fullness of his days and his massive workload were actually blessings in that regard. It was easy to be consumed with other things. He only really thought of Harry just as he was turning in for the night. He had gotten used to sleeping next to someone again, and it was an adjustment to go to bed alone. But he’d been here before; he knew what it was like to miss someone the same way you would miss a limb, like you can’t fully function without them, like you aren’t fully yourself. He had felt that before and he knew it would pass.

He’d just spread out in bed, taking up as much space as he could, and think of other things: his task list for the next day, his summer plans, what he was going to get his godson for his third birthday. And if none of that worked, he would have a wank, thinking of anyone but a certain green-eyed brunet, and finally drift off to sleep.

It was not a perfect life at the moment, but it wasn’t terrible, and it wasn’t forever. When the summer came, Draco would find a way to move on properly, whatever it took.

***

When the end of the school year finally arrived, it was actually a bit of a shock. Draco awoke on that final morning and immediately began running through all he had to do that in his head, as had become his routine these past weeks. And then he realized he didn’t have to do much of anything at all. He was almost entirely packed, having put away most of his clothes the night before. There were a few things left in his classroom and there was an inventory of his store cupboard that needed to be done, but other than that…

He was finished. The school year was over.

Of course, as he had explained (somewhat hyperbolically) to Pansy many months ago, the work of a teacher never ended. He had exams to mark and a store pantry to replenish and next year to prepare for. But even with all that he was still looking at an open, relatively carefree summer.

What was he going to do with himself?

He would cross that bridge when he came to it, he decided. For now he would focus on the last few things on his Hogwarts To Do list. He decided to start on his inventory for the store pantry. That he actually found rather relaxing.

He was glad he did, for it meant he was in his classroom when a few of his favorite students stopped by for a final goodbye. He wished them well, especially those that were freshly graduated, and told them to enjoy their summers. They said the same and thanked him for a great year. Draco returned to his task, grinning widely and feeling truly pleased for the first time since he’d broken things off with Harry.

Teaching was still his calling, he was sure, no matter what happened between him and Harry. Even if things had changed permanently between them, he would not let go of Hogwarts. He was sure of that now.

“Professor?”

More visitors? He hadn’t heard anyone come in.

“I’m here!” he called, turning and looking out of the pantry door into his classroom. Raisie McNeal was standing by his desk, a small stack of parchment clutched against her chest. “Miss McNeal,” he greeted her. “Come to say farewell?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m glad I found you. I wanted to leave you with a copy of the research I’ve done, for the next stages of the experiment. It’s what I’ll be focusing on over the summer, so that when we return next year I’ll be ready to start brewing again. I’d love to know your thoughts.”

Draco chuckled, reaching for the stack. McNeal handed it over. “Well, not that I can admonish you for working so hard,” he said, “but you do know the summer is for relaxing and having a bit of fun, don’t you?”

“This  _is_ fun,” she said, making Draco laugh again. “And I won’t be working the whole time. Cole’s family has tickets to the World Cup in Egypt this summer, and I’m going to go with them.”

“Lucky you,” said Draco. “Those tickets are hard to come by, so I hear.”

“That’s what Cole keeps telling me,” she replied with an affectionate eye roll. “I’m not that… you know, bothered… about Quidditch. But I like to make an effort for Cole, plus there will be witches and wizards from all over the world there, and that will be quite interesting, won’t it?”

“Quite. You know, I attended the World Cup when it was here in Britain. It’s something else, even for a Quidditch match.” That had been twelve years ago, now. It was hard to believe. “It helped we were in the Minister’s box. Best view in the house.”

“Oh, those tickets must have been quite coveted,” she said.

“My father was well-connected,” Draco replied drily.

McNeal nodded vaguely, and it dawned on Draco that she likely had no idea who his father was. Hogwarts students learned about the war, certainly, and Voldemort, and how the famous Harry Potter had saved the world. But so many of the details were being lost with the new generation. He couldn’t help but think that might be a good thing. 

“Well anyway,” McNeal said. “I have to be off to finish packing. But I hope you’ll take a look at what I’ve written up and see what you think. We can owl over the summer, can’t we?”

“Most certainly,” said Draco. “It’s very common with my NEWT students who are doing research.”

“Good,” McNeal said, looking genuinely pleased. “I think I’m going to have a lot of questions. And I’m going to need something to entertain me while Cole and his brothers sit around talking about Quidditch.”

Draco laughed. “Yes, indeed.”

“Do you go home today as well, or do you stay on awhile?”

“I’ll likely leave today. I’ve just been finishing up the last of my packing. But I can just Apparate out of Hogsmeade, so I’m not on a particular timetable.”

“Sure, of course,” McNeal said, looking about the room with a kind of wistfulness. Draco wondered if she was thinking she would miss it these few months while she was gone.

“The summer will absolutely fly by, you know,” he said. “It always does. So enjoy it while it lasts.”

Her smile was small. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be properly happy away from Hogwarts,” she said, and the words actually made Draco’s throat feel a little tight. Perhaps because he knew exactly what she meant. “I don’t know what I’ll do when I graduate.”

“Well, there’s always your Potions mastery afterward, if you decide to pursue it.”

“Yes, but I’d have to apprentice under you to be able come to Hogwarts for it, and  _everyone_ my year will want to. And Helen Reid told me you only accept one student per year, maybe two.”

Draco fought a disbelieving smile. “She’s right. But I quite like your chances. Don’t you?”

McNeal stared at her shoes, and Draco could tell she was pleased. “I suppose,” she murmured, after a minute. She looked up again, having managed her expression, somewhat. “I guess I should be going. The train’s leaving in a few hours.”

“I suppose so. I have to finish my inventory. And pack up my classroom.”

“Oh, I meant to ask,” McNeal said, as if she had just remembered something. “Whatever happened to that paper dragon of yours? It’s been missing recently, hasn’t it? I hope you haven’t gotten rid of it.”

Draco looked at her a moment, wondering what made her think of that. “No, I didn’t get rid of it,” he said. “It’s somewhere safe.” He’d put it in his desk drawer, actually. It was too much to look at it every day. It made him think constantly of Harry, and there was something rather depressing about its complete lack of movement these past weeks. There was a chance, in fact, that it would never move again, never deliver another message from Harry. And Draco didn’t want to have to think about that, if he could help it.

“Oh good,” McNeal said. “I missed it, though. I stared at it a lot, when I was trying to think through a problem. It’s strange, but I felt like it helped me. I hope you have it out next year as well.”

“Perhaps I will,” said Draco. “We’ll see.” And then he added, for reasons beyond his own understanding, “The charm has worn off, I think. I’m not sure it will ever move again.”

She looked at him with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “That’s a shame.”

“Yes,” said Draco.

“You never know, though. It could move again, if you give it some time.” It was as though she felt a need to reassure him, which struck Draco as odd. Of course, he supposed he did sound rather sad, didn’t he?

“Perhaps,” he replied. “You never know.”

When she had finally gone, after a few more heartfelt goodbyes and thank-yous, Draco went around to the other side of his desk. He stared at the top left-side drawer a moment before reaching for the handle and tugging.

The dragon in question came into view, sitting still, lifeless, inside the drawer. He stared down at it, half of him wanting to close the drawer and never look at it again. Yet the other half of him wanted to pull it out and examine it, remember the effort that must have gone into creating it. 

That effort proved that he had meant something to Harry, even though Harry himself hadn’t said as much aloud. It  _had_ to. It had to mean that they had something, a connection that neither shared with any other. Whether that connection was romantic was another matter, but Draco wondered if that was really all that important.

Harry had become one of his closest confidants that year. They’d shared both joy and sorrow; they’d confessed closely held secrets, revealed insecurities both trivial and deeply rooted. That wasn’t nothing; you didn’t find that with just anyone. So how could he be content to throw it away now?

He missed Harry desperately, and only one part of it was physical. He missed, more than the sex, more than touch, the way he could always seek Harry out in a room and exchange a knowing glance. He missed the way he only had to obliquely mention something his father had said in a letter for Harry to understand exactly what he was feeling. He missed Harry’s distinctive chuckle whenever he heard Draco utter something sarcastic under his breath.

Was it possible for someone to become your best friend without you realizing it?

He didn’t know what to do, as a friendship with Harry was not solely in his control. But Draco decided in that moment, staring down at the dragon in the drawer, that the least he could do was make an effort from his end. He didn’t want to shy away from it anymore. He needed Harry in his life, one way or another.

And so he went to find Harry, hoping it wasn’t too late.

The Gryffindor wasn’t in his quarters. Or, at the very least, he wasn’t answering the door. Draco had a momentary panic before he decided he ought to check the Defense classroom, just in case.

His choice was a sound one. There Harry was, packing and stowing away the various instruments scattered about his classroom. Some were small enough to fit inside the trunk that stood open by his desk, while others were taller than Harry himself, and simply had to be draped and locked away in the massive cabinet on the far side of the room.

“Surely you don’t take all of that home with you over the summer,” Draco said, eyeing the trunk.

Harry turned to him with a look of surprise, and then gave Draco a small smile and a nod in greeting.

“Not at all,” he replied. “It would be quite a pain to lug these back and forth from Hogwarts. I just have to lock them up, to be on the safe side, until my return.”

“Of course,’ Draco replied easily, coming further into the room now it was clear that Harry was neither going to hex him nor tell him off. “I imagine some are quite fragile, easily disrupted.”

“It’s a bit silly, really,” said Harry, “because I hardly ever use them. Just keep them around for nostalgia’s sake, I suppose. Some are from my time in the Aurors, but I inherited a lot from Mad-Eye Moody, believe it or not. I don’t know what made him want to bequeath most of his Dark Detectors to  _me_ , but he did.”

“Perhaps he saw your future better than you could: talented Auror turned even more talented professor.”

Harry returned his gaze to his packing, but not before Draco caught a small tint of pink on his cheeks. “It certainly gives off the air of eccentric professor, I think,” he said finally, lifting the lid of his trunk off the floor so he could close and lock it. “Given all those strange instruments Dumbledore used to have in his office. Of course, he used his to solve all sorts of problems. Whereas I just use mine to give off the illusion that I know what I’m talking about.”

Draco found himself smiling. Harry often resorted to self-deprecation when he was uncomfortable, which wasn’t even all that often anymore. It reminded Draco of just how much time he had spent with Harry these past months, that he would be aware of that little habit.

“Isn’t that rule number one of teaching, to always give off the illusion that you know what you’re talking about, even when you have no clue?”

Harry huffed a small laugh. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

They were silent for a little while as Harry walked about his classroom, finishing his packing, long enough for Draco to consider how surprisingly friendly and easy this conversation was, and to wonder when it would turn awkward.

“When do you head out?” he asked Harry.

“Today or tomorrow,” Harry said. “I’m not in a hurry. You?”

“In a few hours, probably. I’m nearly packed, and my classroom’s done. Not much else, really.”

“Sure. You’re Apparating?”

“That’s right. Don’t see much point in taking the train.”

“I’ve done it a couple of times,” Harry said with a smirk. “It’s… an experience.”

Draco hummed, believing he understood. “Remind you of our school days?”

“No, actually. Those train rides were enjoyable, all in all, back then. Exciting. Now as a teacher, they’re just… loud.”

The blond laughed. “You’re getting old, Potter,” he said.

“You’re telling me.”

They were quiet again. Harry was running out of things to put away, and then what would they do? Actually look at each other, talk face to face? Draco wasn’t sure he could handle it. It was much more comfortable when Harry had something to do with his hands, somewhere to look that wasn’t at Draco.

And yet he’d come here for a reason, hadn’t he? He found his courage nearly failing him and straightened up.

“I suppose I just wanted to say goodbye before I go,” Draco said. “It… seemed wrong to just go without saying goodbye.”

He changed the atmosphere in the room then, just with that one sentence. Harry still wasn’t looking at him, but the set of his body was entirely different now, no longer relaxed.

“I’m glad you did,” the brunet said finally. “We haven’t spent much time together lately.”

“No,” Draco said, feeling that was an understatement. They’d been actively avoiding each other, and they both knew it. “And I miss that, you know. I miss…”  _You._ “Our friendship. It’s been hard, not having you around, if I’m honest.” When Harry didn’t say anything, he plowed on. “I know part of it is my fault. I know I ended the arrangement abruptly and it made things weird between us. And I know it can’t suddenly become  _not_ weird overnight, but…” Merlin, he was rambling like a fool. He wanted Harry to turn around, to say something that would spare him more of this. But he didn’t. “Can we…” He cleared his throat. “Can we have that again? A friendship, I mean. A proper one. Maybe not right now, but after the summer? After we’ve had some… space?”

Harry turned slowly, looking into Draco’s eyes for the first time in a very long time. It was daunting and beautiful all at once, and Draco tried not to squirm. “I’d like that,” he said finally, softly. “After the summer. Once we’ve had some space.”

“Good,” said Draco. He wanted to say something else, about how important Harry was to him. But it would probably just sound like an echo of what he had said before, the morning he had ended it. Either that, or Draco would be in danger of letting his mouth run away with him, sharing all sorts of things that he would be mortified if he let slip. “It would mean a lot to me,” he managed, thinking that struck the right notes. “I can’t help but feel I’ve rather… bollocksed it all up. Our friendship I mean. And for that I’m very sorry.” Good. This was good. Keep it about the friendship. That would steer him right.

“You didn’t,” Harry said, surprising him. “I haven’t handled… well…” He didn’t seem to know where he was going with that, because he didn’t finish the thought. “It will be all right,” he said instead. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “Somehow.” 

Harry nodded, and they were silent again.

“I should go,” Draco said.

“All right.”

“So. Goodbye. For now.”

“Bye. For now.”

Draco was having that problem moving his feet again, although in this case it wasn’t lack of movement, but rather direction, that was the problem. Because while he should have turned and walked out the door, he found himself stepping forward instead, towards the brunet.

Harry’s face registered surprise, but he didn't back away as Draco approached and embraced him. He tensed a moment, Draco noticed, before relaxing. But that was all right, because he was clutching tightly to Draco now and Draco was clutching him back with the same hard grip, and it felt… right. It felt like home.

Harry nuzzled into Draco’s neck and breathed in deeply. Draco’s body betrayed him with an involuntary shudder of pleasure, and he squeezed even more tightly once before letting go, knowing where this could go if both men allowed it to.

And he couldn’t allow it. He just couldn’t. There was no way to  _un_ -fall off a cliff, and he was already teetering close to the edge as it was.

He pulled away, placing a hand on the side of Harry’s face because he simply couldn’t help himself. His thumb brushed the soft skin at the curve of Harry’s cheek, and for a moment…

For a moment he thought he _could_ give in, everything else be damned. But it only lasted a moment. He soon returned to himself.

“Have a good summer,” he said, which he knew was a feeble and useless thing to say. But he had to say something.

Harry simply nodded, lips slightly parted and eyes wide as if in shock. It was possible he hadn’t even registered what Draco had said, which was all to the better, really.

Draco nodded too and forced himself to leave behind Harry’s body altogether by taking a step back and dropping his hand. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he said, and turned, finally, mercifully, while his hands tingled and his chest vibrated with want.

“Goodbye, Draco,” said Harry, the moment before Draco closed the door behind him.

And then the door was closed, and that was that.


	15. Lesson 15: What You're Built For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, what a response! Even though it was a hard one and some of you might be a little mad at me for what I put you through, it was still such a boost for me to see everyone who's invested in this story. I was battling a cold all week too, and this was pretty good medicine, I have to say :)
> 
> Fair warning, this is the part where Draco is with other people. I know it's blasphemy. Don't think I don't know that. I had to write this weirdly non-Drarry smut after all, and it was not that fun to do. I hope you will keep an open mind anyway and realize that this is just part of the journey. We all know Draco will end up where he needs to in the end. Have faith <3

“You can stay, if you want,” a voice drawled behind him.

Draco turned, already half dressed, and looked at the muscled brunet who was sitting up in bed, his elbows resting casually on sheet-clad knees.

Jim, he thought the bloke’s name was. Though it might have been John, actually.

“Thanks,” Draco replied. “But I have work in the morning.”

A blatant lie, that was, and they both knew it. But the dark-haired Muggle merely shrugged. “I give great morning head, is all I’m saying.”

That got a laugh from Draco, with the way it was delivered so drily, and with a straight face. He’d earned it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And if it weren’t a one-off, he would actually have done that. But it was a one-off, and they both knew that too. So Jim/John smirked, shrugged, and sat there looking generically hot. Not unlike many of the men Draco had been with the past couple of weeks.

He had tried not to stick to type, if only to avoid torturing himself. Tan brunets with light eyes were all well and good, but beauty had many forms, and Draco had explored that as much as he could. Skin tones, body types, hair color, eye color. He’d had a good sampling thus far. But he did occasionally find himself in bed with a bloke who looked vaguely like Harry, and he almost always regretted it in the morning.

Jim/John was like a shadow of Draco’s former lover. Granted, it was a quite buff, arguably prettier version, but he was still a shadow. Yes, his skin was flawless, his face symmetrical, and his body fat percentage some obscenely low number. But he didn’t have Harry’s piercing, knowing eyes or his warm laugh. He didn’t hum with energy the way Harry did. He wasn’t constantly moving, fidgeting, perpetually restless. He didn’t have Harry’s scars or his wisdom. He didn’t have Harry’s brain, and he definitely didn’t have Harry’s heart.

He was just a shadow. So Draco was happy to be gone as soon as possible.

He finished dressing and told the man that yes, he could see himself out. Jim/John didn’t bother asking Draco for his mobile number or offering up his own, the way some others did, and Draco appreciated that. The man was savvy, at least. Not unintelligent. He was even funny and well-spoken. Any man would consider himself lucky to wind up in his bed. Draco knew that.

Not that it made much difference, not to him.

He Apparated home from the alley around the corner from the man’s London flat, appearing with a  _pop_ right in the middle of his own study.

“Another late night for you then?” said a voice, and Draco turned towards it. He smirked when he saw who it was.

“Waiting up for me, Uncle? How thoughtful. One might say _protective_ , even.”

Severus Snape snorted delicately. “I happened to be taking a glance on this end of things when you arrived, that is all.”

Draco didn’t believe him, of course. The man had been spending considerably more time in his portrait at Malfoy Manor since Draco had arrived home for the summer and Draco couldn’t help but think that the memory of his godfather was trying to watch over him, though he would never admit as much.

“Your floo chimed earlier this evening. Multiple times. I believe someone is eager to speak with you,” Severus added, which only proved Draco’s point. Clearly the man had been lingering, if he was around to hear all that.

“It’s probably Pansy,” said Draco with a sigh. “She’s invited me to a dinner party and I haven’t yet replied.”

“That’s rather rude,” Severus admonished with a sniff. “Parkinson has always been a good friend to you.”

“Yes, she has,” Draco agreed. “But I think she’s up to something. She’s a bit too insistent that I attend  _this_ particular party, when usually she’s not fussed either way. Which makes me think she’s trying to set me up with someone.”

“Ah, well,” Severus said delicately. “Would that really be so awful?”

 _Considering the person she wants to set me up with is undoubtedly a woman, yes,_ Draco wanted to answer, but didn’t. He hadn’t yet confided in his godfather the new details of his sexuality. He had no idea how Severus would react to it, if he was honest. And if it somehow got back to his father…

“Apparently it would,” the late Potions master said drily, interrupting Draco’s thoughts. Draco realized he was scowling, and relaxed his mouth into an impassive line. “Does this have anything to do with what you were doing out so late?”

“I  _was_ sleeping with someone, if that’s what you’re asking,” Draco said, mostly just to shock him. “But it was a one-off. Not serious.”

“I see. And something serious is that offensive to you, is it?” the man asked, and Draco was surprised to hear that there was actually very little judgment in the question.

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly. “I haven’t met anyone I like enough to know for sure.”

Granted, he’d been sleeping exclusively with Muggle men he’d picked up at various bars and clubs all over London, so it was never going to be serious. The sex wasn’t completely devoid of connection. He was a graduate of the Harry Potter School of Pleasing a Lover, after all, so he did make the most out of it. No one he had slept with so far went away unsatisfied or unhappier for having been with him. Draco made sure of that. But it was unlikely he was going to find someone in that world that he wanted an actual relationship with.

He’d have to get a mobile, for one thing, because apparently every Muggle had one. It was their version of floo-calling, essentially, their most rapid means of communication. They seemed rather convenient, actually, but Draco was never going to go so far as to  _obtain_ one.

“So, then,” Severus said, his tone a bit cautious, “perhaps you aren’t picking the right ones for yourself. Perhaps it would be prudent to allow a friend who knows you well to pick one for you.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at his godfather in suspicion. It wasn’t like him to meddle in these sorts of situations. “What’s it to you, in the end, Uncle?” he asked. “What difference does it make if I sleep around a bit?”

“Draco,” the man said, impatience turning his tone a bit icy, as it often did, “It has been over a year. You are shockingly brilliant, unexpectedly generous, and obnoxiously handsome. It’s about time you found yourself a partner who is worthy of you. Your time is not infinite. So I would think you’d want to stop wasting it.”

Draco stared at the portrait of his godfather in disbelief. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the man utter words so overtly complimentary before. And advice with regards to his love life? He didn’t know what to make of it.

“I thought you of all people would believe that a life can be fulfilling without a partner,” he said. “There is much about my life I already like. I wouldn’t say I’m  _wasting_ it.”

“Life can be fulfilling without a partner,” Severus said, “if one is not interested in seeking a partner. If one does not feel an urge to share their life with another, then the choice is perfectly reasonable. But  _you_ want a partner, do you not?”

“I…” He knew the answer was yes. And yet the bluntness of the question had Draco reeling. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then what, my boy, are you  _doing_ exactly? Dawdling, it seems to me. But over what? For what purpose?”

Draco didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t very well tell the man that he had come dangerously close to falling in love with Harry Potter and needed a palate cleanser (or ten) in order to get the man out of his system. But he also realized that even if he did tell Severus about Harry, it wouldn’t really be a sufficient answer.

He wanted to move on, and his sexcapades with Muggles was his way of doing that. But it wasn’t really working. It wasn’t doing him any good, really. Nothing lingered; the sex was good but he was left with a bland taste in his mouth after every evening out. There was so much emptiness in it. 

He’d thought he could do it the way Harry did: dating around, having a few lovers whose company he enjoyed every now and then. But it never worked out that way. All the men turned out to be one-offs, mostly because after the sex, Draco could never see the point in it continuing if it was never going to go anywhere.

 _This isn’t really me, is it?_ he thought.  _I’m not built for all this_. It might have worked for Harry, but it wasn’t really working for Draco.

Maybe it was time he moved on properly, with someone he could actually date in the long run. He wasn’t expecting to find his future spouse right from the off, but maybe, if he explored in earnest, if he was willing to look past being with someone for one night, he could actually start to see a future with someone. That could be good.

Of course, it would mean dating women again. But maybe he could actually do that. Maybe he was ready. There was only one way to find out, really.

“You make an excellent point,” he told the sallow-skinned Slytherin. “I’ll contact Pansy tomorrow, then.”

“See that you do,” said the older man, eyeing Draco carefully as if he didn’t quite believe him. 

“Goodnight, Severus,” Draco said to him, with affection. The man harrumphed and said no more, leaving the portrait altogether. Chuckling to himself, Draco made his way to his bedroom.

The manor was dark and empty, but the elves had lit the lamps along the way for him, seeming to have known it would be necessary. He supposed he  _had_ had a lot of late nights recently, what with all the sex he was having.

Of course, picking up Muggle men wasn’t all that he had done with his summer so far. He’d been spending time with friends as well, mainly Pansy and her social circle, which also included Greg Goyle, who had married Millicent Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis, the other Slytherin girl from their year besides Pansy and Daphne. Pansy had thrown a little birthday party for Draco, in fact, which featured the aforementioned Slytherins and some other familiar faces from their past as well.

Draco had also been owling with Francesca quite a bit, as she was eager to hear how he was getting on without Harry and he was happy to hear the pleasant accounts of her luxuriating in Italy and the updates to her love life. In fact, he’d just received a letter that morning detailing how Francesca had invited Longbottom to come visit her in July. Draco had written back quickly and hoped to hear an update about whether the Herbologist had accepted the invitation or not.

He was aware that the summer holidays would have been made more enjoyable by Harry’s presence, whether in person or just through writing letters, but Draco had held off on any kind of contact. They had essentially agreed, on the final day of the term, that they would take space, and Draco thought that would be best.

At least he was finding plenty of ways to fill his hours. This dinner party Pansy was throwing would be just one more. He was almost sure she was trying to set him up. He’d seen the glint in her eye when he admitted to her that the fling with his mystery lover had ended over a month previously. She would want to meddle, as it seemed everyone he was close to in his life wanted to at the moment. 

Maybe it was a waste of time. If she was trying to set him up, there was a good chance it wouldn’t work out. Draco loathed this sort of scenario normally, making forced conversation while trying to avoid the looming reality that he was somehow  _meant_ to hit it off with the person and there were people around watching to see if he had. It wasn’t unlike the experience of having his marriage arranged.

But maybe if he thought of it like an experiment, a testing of the waters to see if a sexual interest in women had returned, then he wouldn’t feel so much pressure. What was the worst that could happen? 

***

Pansy was bordering on ecstatic when he accepted her invitation the following morning, which only confirmed his suspicions. He didn’t say anything, however, letting her enjoy, at least temporarily, the illusion that she was pulling one over on him. Because he was just that generous of a friend.

And, though he would never admit it to her, it pleased him that she was so invested in his happiness, even when she was being high-handed about it.

When he arrived at the actual party (fashionably late, of course), Pansy swooped on him immediately, making a show of kissing him on both cheeks and calling him “darling” and telling him how happy she was to see him. In other words, she was in full hostess mode. Draco simply smiled and kissed her back and held out the bottle of wine he had brought.

“Lovely,” she said, handing it off to a house elf before hooking her arm through his. “Come along then. I want you to meet some people.”

“Of course you do,” he said to her, rolling his eyes. She looked at him demurely from under her lashes.

“Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Draco, love. I’m just showing you around is all. We have some new faces here tonight and I have no doubt you will want to make their acquaintance. I believe you would find the connection quite… enjoyable.”

“What’s her name, Pans?” Draco asked her in his best no-nonsense tone. 

“Lindsey,” Pansy said, tossing him a wink. “And she’s absolutely lovely. So be nice.”

Draco huffed but said nothing. Severus’ words from a few nights ago had stuck with him, and he had decided to come into this with an open mind. Who knew? Perhaps this Lindsey was as lovely as Pansy claimed. Maybe they would hit it off splendidly and he would finally find a woman he could be interested in after over a year.

It could happen.

Pansy was sly, though, of course. She didn’t introduce Draco to Lindsey right away. She paraded him around the room first, allowing him to greet those he already knew and a meet a few new faces as well, all Ministry people who Pansy had become acquainted with through her part time work there. It wasn’t until they’d made the rounds and a house elf made sure Draco had a glass of firewhiskey in his hand that Pansy brought him over to a willowy brunette who she introduced as Lindsey Bergeron.

“Lindsey, this is one of my oldest and dearest friends, Draco Malfoy,” Pansy said to the witch, positively beaming. “He’s a professor at Hogwarts.”

Lindsey took him in with warm hazel eyes and held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Draco,” she said.

“You as well,” Draco replied, taking her hand as he tried to place her accent. He thought maybe she was American, though he wasn’t sure.

“Canadian,” she replied with a grin when he asked. “I live in Toronto, but I’m visiting my brother for the summer. He lives in London and works at the Ministry now.”

“You met him earlier,” Pansy told him. “Very briefly.”

“Oh, right,” Draco said, quickly wracking his brain and trying to sort through the whirlwind of faces he’d seen in the last few minutes. He did remember a bloke with darker hair than hers but who sported a similar nose, long face, and same svelte physique. “Kevin, was it?” he ventured.

“Kyle,” she corrected.

“Right. Kyle.”

“Well, I’ll let you two get acquainted, then,” Pansy said to them with a squeeze of Draco’s arm. “I’ve a few more guests to greet.” And she was off before Draco had time to protest.

But no matter. He could make small-talk with this woman easily. She was from another country, after all, and that left many potential avenues for conversation. Not to mention, the woman seemed quite socially graceful, the type of person who carried herself well and always knew what she was going to say next. Draco supposed it was the sort of thing he ought to find attractive. Maybe he would, if he gave himself half a chance.

“So, you’re here all summer? That must be nice. What do you do for work, normally?”

“I’m a Potions researcher,” she said. “I work in a lab on a four-person team, plus one apprentice.”

“I teach Potions at Hogwarts,” he told her, pleased to so easily find some common ground.

She grinned. “Well, I can see why Pansy shoved us together, then. Potions is my life.”

“And mine,” Draco said, finding himself overwhelmingly relieved. The two of them would have plenty to talk about. Even if there was no romantic connection, in the end, Draco always enjoyed talking shop. “Does the lab let you travel for long periods of time like this? Or are you here for research?”

“We’ve just finished a major project that took over three years. I decided to cash in all the vacation time I had built up and take a long break. Though I’ll probably still read and research a lot while I’m here. There’s an incredible library here in London, only a block from St. Mungo’s, which all the Healers use.”

“Sure, I’m familiar with it.”

“Oh, of course,” she said, waving a hand. “Anyway, they’ve given me privileges, which is very nice of them. It will help keep me busy while Kyle’s at work all day. I’m not much for sitting around doing nothing.”

Draco smiled and asked her about what her team was working on, and that carried them all the way to Pansy’s announcement that dinner was served.

“I wish you were here past the summer,” Draco told her as he pulled out a chair for her at the table. She thanked him with a murmur before he continued. “It would be wonderful to have you visit Hogwarts and meet some of my NEWT students. I talk a lot about research labs when giving career advice but seeing as I’ve never worked in one, what I can say on the subject is limited. I’m sure many of my 7th years especially would have a lot of good questions for you about what it’s like.”

“It is a shame,” she said, “because I’ve always wanted to see Hogwarts. It’s arguably  _the_ most significant school of magic in the world, given its longevity and even its recent history.” Draco assumed by that she meant the war and the final battle that took place on the Hogwarts grounds, though he didn’t ask her to specify. “So many important thinkers and have come from that one place. It’s really extraordinary. Not to mention Harry Potter and the defeat of Voldemort, and all that.”

“Mm,” said Draco, worried he would say too much. He didn’t want to mention that Harry was a professor at Hogwarts now, or really say anything to encourage that line of conversation. It was the last subject he wanted to discuss at the moment.

Luckily, Lindsey was temporarily distracted when an elf asked her if she would prefer red or white wine, and by the time she turned back to him she was content to have moved off the subject.

“Anyway, I’d love to see it, but it’s just not possible with the timing and everything. But, if you have some specific students in mind, particularly ones who are already starting their apprenticeships, I would be happy to talk with them while I’m here. At least I can give the new graduates a sense of what to expect if they want to go the route of working in a lab.”

Draco thanked the elf as she poured him a glass of red wine and then said to Lindsey, “Really? That would be fantastic. I can think of a number of students off the top of my head that would love the opportunity. I could get a group together and maybe we can do an informal tea at the manor with all of them.”

“That sounds perfect,” she said, beaming. “I’m always excited to meet the newest minds in Potions. I thought about becoming a teacher myself, you know.”

And they were off on another subject as Lindsey asked Draco about his experiences as a teacher at Hogwarts. He was happy to tell her about his first year as a teacher and all of the unexpected challenges. He also waxed rhapsodic about a number of students, worried after a little while that he was boring her. But she listened with rapt attention and asked insightful questions, and so he was content to go on.

He did his best to ignore the very pleased looks Pansy was giving him from the other end of the very long table, instead focusing on Lindsey between spoonfuls of cool and flavorful gazpacho. It had been a long time since he’d had conversation so enjoyable and easy. Lindsey was very talkative, never without a subject of interest at her fingertips to discuss. But she was a good listener too and seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him.

Draco could see why Pansy had thought it a good match, what with all their common ground. And Lindsey was quite pretty, but not in a way that was anything like Astoria. And, perhaps most notably, she was only here for a few months, meaning that if they did get involved, there was a natural end date that would preclude them from getting into anything serious, which took the pressure off considerably. 

It was good thinking on Pansy’s part. Draco had to give her credit. Now he just had to sort out of he was actually attracted to her or if he was merely taken with her considerable conversational skills. It was hard to determine. It felt like ages since he had considered an interest in a woman. It was like stepping back on old terrain that was only vaguely familiar, having changed somewhat in his absence. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do yet.

His thoughts were cut short, as was Lindsey’s description of her life in Toronto, when a lanky figure plopped himself down in the chair next to Lindsey’s at the end of the table. The blond and the brunette both turned their heads in that direction to find a dark haired man smiling widely at them – or rather at Lindsey, more specifically.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” the man said. “I saw this seat was empty and I was about to lose my mind over there if I had to hear one more word from Iverson about Ministry oversight of the dragonhide industry.”

Draco looked down momentarily at the table in front of the man to see that he had brought his dinner plate as well as his glass of wine with him to his new seat. Draco suppressed a laugh.

“Well, from what you’ve told me, Iverson loves his soapbox,” Lindsey replied, completely unfazed by the man’s arrival. She turned back to Draco. “Draco, I think you mentioned earlier that you’ve already been introduced to my brother?”

“Oh, of course,” said Draco, nodding at the dark-haired man. “Kyle. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, you too. Um, Draco? Am I saying that right?”

“You are.”

“Draco’s a Potions professor at Hogwarts,” Lindsey told Kyle.

“Oh, Gods. Well, I guess I’ll be going then. It was nice to meet you.” Kyle grabbed his plate and rose out of his seat as if he were about to take off. Lindsey grabbed his arm and made him sit back down.

“Don’t be an ass. Draco doesn’t know your sense of humor,” she admonished her brother, who merely smiled some more and didn’t look remotely sorry. She looked at Draco. “He was just pretending,” she explained. “He’s not actually this rude, I swear. And he doesn’t hate Potions professors or anything.”

“I just know how my sister gets when she meets a fellow Potions nerd,” Kyle explained. “She’s probably been talking your ear off all night.”

“Only when I haven’t been talking hers off instead,” Draco replied smoothly, giving Lindsey a smile, which was returned gratefully. “But there’s no reason we  _have_ to talk about Potions. In fact, Lindsey was just telling me about Toronto. Apparently you lived there as well, up until a few months ago?”

“Yeah. That’s right,” said Kyle. “I was doing Charms development for a private company. I didn’t like it much, though.”

“No?” Draco asked, genuinely surprised. “The work sounds interesting.”

“It would be, in theory,” said Kyle, dropping his goofier façade for the time being and actually looking rather serious. “But the problem with working for a corporation was that it was all about what sells. They wanted me to develop charms that could be applied to products ripe for mainstream consumption. It was all about making money and not much about helping people by creating charms to make their lives easier. I thought I could do both at once, but a lot of my ideas got shut down because they weren’t ‘marketable.’”

“Like what?”

“Like those shoes that help people walk again,” Lindsey chimed in.

“That’s a good example,” Kyle admitted, turning a bit pink.

“What are these?” Draco asked. He hadn’t heard of such a thing.

“I developed a set of charmed shoes that allow any witch or wizard with a disability that affects their ability to walk to be able to walk and run, and to pretty much so anything else, without any trouble or pain.”

“Wow,” said Draco, absorbing that. He’d never given it much thought before. He encountered very few magical folk with disabilities, now that he thought about it. But he supposed there must be some, those who were affected by powerful curses that permanently altered their bodies or minds. And healing magic wasn’t perfect by any stretch. He suddenly remembered Harry mentioned that the arm he’d had to regrow with Skele-gro always got a bit stiff when it was cold. It was likely that those who had to regrow missing legs might have similar challenges, maybe even worse ones.

Kyle shrugged. “My company wasn’t so impressed. It only helped a small portion of the population. Fully abled people wouldn’t reap any benefits from these shoes. It didn’t make them run faster or dance more gracefully or anything. They wanted a wider pool of potential consumers, but I couldn’t deliver. The point of the product was to help people who actually  _needed_ it.” He took a deep breath, calming himself. “Anyway, I was already pretty frustrated by that point. That was just one more nail in the coffin. I applied for a patent on my own, and the Canadian government was very interested in subsidizing for use in hospitals as a part of physical therapy. And then they offered me a job in development. I thought maybe it was time I looked into government work. Your Ministry ended up being the one who made the better offer, and I thought, ‘What the hell? I’ve never lived outside Canada before. Could be an adventure.’ And here I am.”

“And here you are,” Lindsey echoed, looking at her brother with unmistakable affection glinting in her eyes. “Literally helps the disabled walk again. Pretty much winning at life.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, blushing. “Let’s not get carried away,” he said.

Lindsey gave Draco a look. “He’s very modest.”

“Clearly,” said Draco, and to his own surprise he gave Kyle a wink. Kyle raised his eyebrows in surprise, but his blush deepened and he looked down at his plate.

 _He’s bloody adorable_ , Draco found himself thinking. He hadn’t realized it before now. Kyle was lanky, one might even say gangly, and he was wearing a plaid button-down shirt and sported messy dark hair that both made him seem younger than he probably was. But looking at him more closely Draco could see high, handsome cheek bones, deep blue eyes, and long, agile fingers that seemed perpetually fidgety. Plus his shy, embarrassed smile made Draco’s heart squeeze in a strange way.

Kyle looked up from his plate again to find Draco watching him, and the blush returned. He bit his full bottom lip and Draco found himself doing the same.

“Well, I think it’s amazing,” Lindsey cut in, having no awareness of the small moment that was passing between them. “Changing the world one charm at a time. I can’t wait to see what you do next.”

Kyle broke eye contact with Draco to look at his sister. “Thanks, Lins,” he said. “No pressure or anything, I’m sure.”

Draco chuckled, and Kyle met his eyes again. Draco smiled widely, and he saw Kyle swallow nervously.

Draco felt he could readily assume that Kyle was gay. Or at least very into men. He was getting better at spotting such things, and he really didn’t think the look Kyle was giving him now could be mistaken, though the brunet was clearly trying to hide it. 

This was, naturally, an irony fitting for his life at the moment. Of  _course_ Pansy would try to set Draco up with a very eligible prospect, only for Draco to find that he was more attracted to her brother. The universe definitely had a sense of humor.

Lindsey was plenty attractive. There was no doubt. She was socially graceful, intelligent, self-possessed, and, to top it all off, very pretty. And she even loved Potions, which was probably the biggest reason of them all that Pansy had thought her a good match for her friend. There was no good reason that Draco shouldn’t find himself drawn to the witch, enough that he would be interested in pursuing something beyond this dinner party, however casual it might be. There was no good reason at all.

Yet as Lindsey asked Kyle to tell Draco about his latest project at the Ministry, Draco couldn’t help but pay more attention to Kyle’s mouth as it moved, to his hands as he gestured, to the way he kept mussing his hair whenever he was thinking of the right word to use. Kyle had vitality and passion that seemed unable to fully contain, and a charming, self-deprecating humor that almost seemed compulsive. It was a bit magnetic actually, and Draco realized he was starting to fantasize about ways to get Kyle on his own.

He immediately checked himself. What was he thinking? Pursuing this particular bloke meant likely offending the sister, the one he was  _supposed_ to be set up with, risking outing himself to Pansy, and maybe even putting Kyle in an uncomfortable position he didn’t want to be in. The brunet might have shown some initial attraction to Draco, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be pursued. For all Draco knew, he wasn’t out either. Or he might have a boyfriend.

He sat back in his chair, nodding along to something Lindsey was saying now about the latest human Transfiguration research, glad he had come to his senses before he had accidentally revealed too much. Spending a lot of time in the Muggle world, with Muggle men, had given him the illusion that he was free to be himself here. He had forgotten that he actually wasn’t, not really. He could feel his Malfoy mask slowly slipping into place, both familiar and frustratingly heavy.

He was glad dessert was nearly finished. He suddenly felt tired, the prospect of the next couple of hours seeming like a bit much to bear. Why did he have to feel all this pressure to connect with someone, he wondered bitterly. Why did Pansy have to turn what would have otherwise been a quite pleasant dinner party into a matchmaking endeavor? Why couldn’t he have been left to hit it off with Lindsey on his own, even if it was just as a friend?

And why did Lindsey’s brother have to be cuter than she was? It was extremely annoying.

When dinner was finished guests were encouraged to partake of after dinner drinks and make themselves comfortable in the parlor or back garden to continue to socialize. Draco asked an elf for some brandy to finish out the night and with that in hand he excused himself from Lindsey and Kyle both, citing wanting to visit with the hostess a bit more.

It took a bit of looking around, but he found her in the front hall, saying goodbye to an elderly couple, a longtime connection of her parents, that were calling it an early night. When she turned back and spotted him she looped an arm through his and guided him back down the hall, leaning in close.

“Well, what did you think?”

“I like her very much. I think she will make an enjoyable acquaintance to have this summer,” he said. “A purely platonic one, of course,” he added in reaction to the hopeful glint in Pansy’s eyes.

“Oh, Draco,” Pansy said with an exasperated sigh. “ _Why?_ ”

Draco shrugged. “I enjoy her company. I’m just not… drawn to her in that way.”

“But she’s perfect for you,” the witch replied, in a tone that was almost bordering on whinging, which Pansy was hardly ever guilty of. “Beautiful, intelligent, into  _Potions_. Don’t think I didn’t notice you two talking a mile a minute to each other over dinner. You  _adore_ stimulating conversation.”

“Yes,” said Draco. “But from lovers and friends alike. Just because I enjoy talking to her doesn’t mean I want to sleep with her.”

“She’s only here for the summer. I thought it was perfect. You could at least give it a try.”

“I don’t think so,” said Draco firmly, nearly cutting her off. “That wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I’m not going to start dating someone just to please you.”

They walked in silence for a moment, and Draco could tell Pansy was disappointed in him. But he couldn’t exactly apologize for something that was out of his control. They came back into the parlor and Draco looked around to see that Lindsey, to his relief, had been drawn into a conversation with a bloke Draco didn’t know, and she seemed quite happy there. Kyle was by the large bay window that looked out over the back garden, talking to Theo and another man that Draco recognized as Theo’s business partner.

Good. So they were both occupied. It was for the best, and took some pressure off of Draco to try and continue to entertain them.

“It’s this mystery lover, isn’t it?” said Pansy quietly. “You’re not over her yet. That’s why you’re so resistant.”

“That’s not why,” Draco said, realizing he sounded a bit resigned. He knew Pansy wouldn’t believe him anyway.

“If you’re so attached to her, why are you not with her anymore? Pursue her instead. At least then you would be happy.”

“I don’t see why I have to pursue anyone,” Draco argued. “Shouldn’t I be learning how to be happy alone?” He knew he'd had this same argument with Severus only a few nights previously, but he was feeling stubborn.

She looked at him for what felt like a long time.

“I suppose you have a point,” she said finally.

Draco found himself smiling. He knew how difficult it was for her to admit that. “I know you have my best interest at heart,” he said softly to her. “I know you want to fix anything and everything that makes me even remotely unhappy. But there is nothing to fix. I just have to… find my way. In my own time.” He saw her glance down, taking in his words. “I’m not saying it  _couldn’t_ have happened tonight. I came in with an open mind. But Lindsey is simply not what I’m looking for.”

“Do you know what you’re looking for?” Pansy asked him with an arched brow.

She might have meant it as a foil for his argument, but Draco considered the question as if she had asked it in earnest. “I think I’ll know it when I find it.”

“Hmph,” she said. “A convenient  _non­_ -answer, I might point out.”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s all I have.”

She stared at him a moment more, and then, to his surprise, leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll leave you to yourself, then,” she said. Draco watched her go, unable to help a small prick of guilt in his chest. Perhaps he was being difficult. But he couldn’t seem to help it.

He took a sip of his brandy and looked about the room, trying to decide where he wanted to venture next, what conversation he wanted to join. Lindsey, ever the talker, was animatedly explaining something to her companions, but pausing every now and then to let them speak. Kyle, by contrast, wasn’t talking very much at all, letting Theo and his partner converse easily while he half-listened, looking around the room on occasion. Draco made himself look away before their eyes had a chance to meet across the room. 

He saw Tracey Davis speaking with Greg and Millicent, no doubt engaging in the latest gossip, or perhaps reminiscing about their school days, as they were wont to do after a few drinks. That would be an easy conversation to join. He decided to venture in that direction.

He was greeted warmly by his fellow Slytherins. They had been through a lot together, and not all of it good. But they’d always managed to maintain steady friendships through the years. Sure enough, once greetings and pleasantries were exchanged, the group returned to their conversation about another Slytherin they knew, who had been in the year below them, and was now marrying some American muggleborn who her parents disapproved of immensely. Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Did this still count for juicy gossip these days? After the war, after everything, who outside of this tiny sheltered pureblood world really cared about blood status at all?

Thankfully, he apparently wasn’t the only one to hold this viewpoint.

“Honestly, who even cares anymore?” Millicent said. “I know our parents were holdouts, all trying to force us into pureblood marriages. But I can’t help but notice more than half of us rebelled.”

“Or we did what we were told, and it turned out to be a disaster,” Draco said drily, taking a sip of brandy. That earned a laugh from Greg, who understood that this was meant to be humorous.

Tracey eyed him over her glass of sherry. “I spoke with Daphne recently, you know,” she said, in that tone that meant she was about to share something juicy.

“Is that right? Is she still with that Frenchman, Luc? I heard they eloped,” Draco replied conversationally.

“Yes, she’s quite happy, I think,” said Tracey, waving a hand. “But that’s not what we spent the most time talking about. Apparently, her sister is having a bit of a difficult time as a resident of the Zabini estate. Blaise’s mother still lives with them, you know. And you remember what she was like.”

“Intransigent, from what I recall,” said Draco.

“An absolute nightmare, I believe, in layman’s terms,” said Tracey. She looked smug. “Apparently nothing Astoria ever does is up to the woman’s standards. And she’s trying to raise a one-year-old with her mother-in-law looking over her shoulder all the time. Being a new parent is difficult enough, and when there’s no room for error…” She shrugged and took a sip of sherry. “Anyway, Blaise is also apparently gone all the time on business and the girl is stuck in the house with Marianna. It sound like she’s miserable.”

Draco could feel the eyes of all his friends on him as they waited for him to respond. “Hm,” he said finally, his voice carefully neutral. “What a shame.”

This got laughs from all of them. Draco worked to keep a straight face.

“I don’t suppose you’ve spoken to her at all,” Tracey said. “Not that I believe you would, of course.”

“I haven’t spoken to her nor to Blaise since the divorce was finalized. It’s been over a year now.”

“Incredible,” said Millicent. “An entire year gone by and she hasn’t yet figured out how to get along with Marianna. I had Greg’s mother wrapped around my little finger before we even tied the knot.”

Greg put an arm around his wife and gave her an affectionate smile. “Yeah, but we all saw that coming, didn’t we?”

Draco conceded the point with a silent twitch of his eyebrows. By the time Greg had proposed to Millicent it was clear that Fiona Goyle was simply glad her son had found someone. After the elder Goyle was imprisoned for war crimes, the family struggled for a while. Any form of happiness was welcome in that house. 

Draco and his parents knew all about that too. But unlike Lucius Malfoy, Fiona had seemed to learn genuine gratitude for her son’s good fortune, and didn’t impose any of her own expectations on them. Most pureblood parents, by this point, would be hinting about children by now. But Fiona seemed content to let Greg and Millicent make that decision on their own time.

 _Do they know how lucky they are_? Draco mused.

“Well, your mother’s a peach,” Tracey said to Greg, echoing Draco’s own thoughts. “Nothing like Marianna. Honestly, what was Astoria thinking, getting involved with Blaise? She should have seen this consequence coming.” Her eyes flicked to Draco again, her expression unreadable. He saw both Greg and Millicent nod in agreement and suppressed a sigh.

He appreciated the loyalty they were showing in taking some enjoyment out of Astoria’s apparent misfortune. He expected himself to feel some enjoyment as well, even just the smallest little bubble of smugness. But he didn’t feel much of anything, really, other than to think that Blaise was handling marriage and fatherhood rather poorly from the sound of it. Had they still been friends, and had Blaise’s wife been anyone other than Draco’s ex-wife, Draco would have written to him to tell him so.

 _Go home,_ he would tell his former friend, if he could.  _Go home and be with your son. Focus on what's important._

He didn’t say any of this aloud, though. He didn’t really think his fellow Slytherins would quite understand. Or they would assume he was simply pretending he wasn’t smug about it, in order to appear the bigger man.

It struck him that this was just the sort of thing he could have safely said to Harry, were he here. The Gryffindor might not understand his concern that Blaise was bollocksing up his marriage, given the way his best mate had betrayed him, but he would pass no judgments. Draco could imagine it easily, the way that Harry would listen with an impassive, perhaps thoughtful, expression, nodding occasionally. Then he would consider what Draco had said silently for a moment, turning it over in his mind. And then he would probably ask a question, a surprisingly incisive one that would get Draco thinking about the situation in a new way. And then Draco would answer, and Harry would listen, and the whole process would start over again.

Draco took a sip of brandy to help him suppress another sigh. He hated these moments, when the odd, unexpected ache of missing someone would pop up without any warning. It was never at times that made sense (All right, perhaps that wasn’t true, since Draco had gone to bed just about every night for the past two months missing Harry, which made perfect sense. But still). These moments crept up on you, stealthy, quiet, before whomping you on the side of the head like a bludger.

He really hated it. But he also knew that time and patience was the only thing that made it better. His divorce had taught him that.

Just keep breathing. In, out, repeat. And if you can, make conversation.

He managed all right for a little while longer with his Slytherin friends, as thankfully the conversation moved off the subject of his ex-wife and into the political sphere, a much safer topic given that everyone in the group thought the current Minister was a dimwit and there was no danger of offending others by abusing him.

But Draco eventually grew weary of that, of all of it, really. He considered making a break for it. It wouldn’t be bad form, would it? He’d stayed through dessert and even some post-dinner small-talk. There was no reason he was obligated to stay longer.

Still, he found himself wandering towards the gardens rather than the front door. Choosing to leave meant making the rounds to say his goodbyes, which, manners dictated, ought to include Lindsey Bergeron. And he just didn’t feel like having that awkward conversation quite yet.

The pathway through the gardens was charmingly lit with an abundance of fairy lights, and it made the surrounding roses, peonies, and gardenias glow as if enchanted. It was enough to make Draco pause and wonder if some charm work was involved.

He found himself a seat on an ornate stone bench, getting comfortable as he leaned back and rested one ankle on top of his other knee. His mother would never approve of such an attitude, believing it too casual (she was big on posture), but he never cared much about this. He was hardly about to start now.

He sipped on his brandy and considered the garden before him. The entire thing was brightly lit, including the topiaries, and the inner walls of the hedgerow that separated the gardens from the dark, rolling hills beyond. Draco found himself impressed. It was nearly as nice as the manor; Pansy’s doing, no doubt. She had confided in him that upon her and Theo’s marriage and their inheritance of the estate the place had been rather dreary, the house falling into disrepair and the gardens weedy with neglect. Of course, Pansy Nott could never abide such a thing.

Draco wondered what it would be like to have a wife as opinionated as Pansy come into her new home at the manor and already be thinking about what she wanted to do to change it. Draco didn’t think he would much care, but it was odd to imagine nonetheless. Astoria had been wide-eyed and awe-struck upon moving in, and never one to speak up about  _anything_ , now that he thought about it. He’d always chocked it up to that the Malfoy estate was much larger and more lavish than the Greengrass one. This didn’t make the match uneven by any stretch. The Malfoys had amassed quite a fortune, true, but the Greengrasses were in a much greater abundance of political clout. They had been neutral during the war and had therefore avoided the stain on their name that an association with the Dark Lord would bring. 

Still, the sudden influx of largesse into Astoria’s life had made her rather quiet at first. Or maybe it was the awkwardness of the new marriage as they figured out getting to know each other. But even after that had passed, after they had slept together for the first time and eased into a natural routine, Astoria never really treated the manor as something to make her own. She’d never tried to change anything about it or disagreed with any of Draco’s decisions about its upkeep. And that was rather strange, wasn’t it? Weren’t husbands and wives  _supposed_ to argue about such things? Given the number of times Pansy had come to Draco in a snit over some disagreement she’d had with Theo, it seemed likely. Yet Draco and Astoria hardly ever fought.

At the time he’d thought it a sign of their natural compatibility as a couple, but it only seemed like one more piece of evidence that indicated Astoria’s lack of investment in their marriage from the start. She’d always had one foot out the door, it seemed. She couldn’t be bothered to do up the manor how she wanted it; she couldn’t be bothered to argue with him about anything.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing a tall, lanky figure heading his way. His stomach lurched slightly, realizing who it was.

It was Kyle. Of course. Because the things you always try most to avoid are the ones that make a point of finding you.

“Hey,” said Kyle. To his credit, he didn’t sit down uninvited, only lingered a few feet from the bench, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets with the thumbs sticking out.

He really was  _tall_ , Draco thought as he looked up at the brunet. He looked as though he had at least a couple inches on Draco, if not more. It was almost a relief, since Draco really didn’t go for men who were taller than him. So why should he bother to pursue Kyle, when there were already so many reasons not to?

“Hello,” he said. “Enjoying your evening?”

Kyle shrugged. “I guess. It’s a little… I don’t know… stuffy in there.”

Draco nodded. Pansy’s parties had a tendency to feel that way. “So you thought you’d come out for some fresh air?”

“And Lindsey was wondering where you were.”

“Mm,” said Draco noncommittally.

“She thought maybe you’d left. But I saw you go out the back doors as if you were coming this way, and I didn’t see you come back, so I figured you were still out here.”

Draco couldn’t help a small smile. He wondered if Kyle realized how much he had revealed just now. Probably not.

“But you didn’t relay your knowledge of my whereabouts to your sister, I see,” he said.

Kyle was temporarily stymied. “I guess I thought I’d come see if you wanted to go back inside?” he said, as if it were a question.

“As opposed to sending her out here to find me, which would have allowed her to have a nice quiet chat with me, completely alone. Instead, you’re the one who came.” He wasn’t sure why he was playing this game with Kyle right now. The bloke was so guileless, it was difficult to resist. But it was a dangerous line he was walking.

To his surprise, Kyle laughed. “Yeah,” he said with resignation, looking at the smooth cobblestones of the garden path. “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

The starkness of that admission, the cavalier way he so easily acquiesced, left Draco speechless for a moment. He finished off his last sip of brandy to manage his nerves. “Would you like to sit?” he asked after he’d set the empty snifter aside and looked back at Kyle.

The brunet hesitated – surprised, Draco thought – before nodding and joining Draco on the bench. He had no drink, nothing to fiddle with, so he just picked at a burgeoning hole in the knee of his jeans while they both sat in silence.

Draco didn’t mean for it to be awkward, but he had to consider what he wanted to say. “I’ll be honest with you,” he said finally. “Your sister is lovely. I really enjoyed talking to her. But I’m not…” He paused, realizing he was about to be a bit too blunt, perhaps.

“Straight?” Kyle said, venturing a guess at how Draco’s sentence was going to end. 

Draco choked on a laugh. “Fucking hell,” he said, out of sheer surprise. “You cut to the chase.”

“Sorry,” he replied, looking sheepish. “I have this problem with saying what I’m thinking without… um…”

“Thinking?” Draco filled in with a teasing grin.

“Yeah, exactly,” Kyle said, grinning back. “Lindsey calls it my Word Vomit Syndrome.”

“What a pleasant name,” Draco said drily. “And I’m ashamed to admit I occasionally have the same affliction, particularly when I’m nervous.”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, nodding. “Yeah, exactly.”

They both fidgeted in silence a few moments more before Draco decided to press on.

“I was actually going to say that your sister is lovely and I enjoyed talking to her, but I’m not interested in her in that way. I was trying to find a more diplomatic way of saying it. But it sounds like I needn’t have bothered.”

“Ah,” said Kyle. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“It’s not that I can’t be attracted to women. I happen to be bisexual, in point of fact. It’s just that I’m not attracted to Lindsey in particular. I hope that doesn’t… I’m not trying to offend you, or anything.”

Kyle shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I mean, my sister is awesome, obviously. But it’s not like I’m going around thinking she hung the moon and every guy should be in love with her.”

“All right, well… that’s good.” Draco wasn’t sure what to say. “I just don’t want to hurt her feelings. I think Pansy had it in mind that we would hit it off immediately and she set up some unfair expectations. It’s exactly why I hate set-ups, actually.”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah. They’re pretty much the worst.” Draco found himself chuckling at that. “You won’t hurt her feelings,” Kyle assured him. “I think she might have been interested, but she’s a big girl; she can handle it. Especially if she realized her brother-“ He stopped talking abruptly.

Draco tried really, really hard not to smirk. It was a Herculean effort. “Her brother what?”

“Nothing,” said Kyle, fighting a smile as he looked out over the gardens. “Just my Syndrome acting up again. We don’t need to dwell on it.”

“Hmmmm,” said Draco, considering Kyle unabashedly for a moment. He could make out his blush in the warm glow of the fairy lights around them.

He was so awkward and gangly and artless, and yet it only served to make him rather charming to be with. It helped that he had a nice, wide smile, graceful hands, and those brilliant blue eyes. But it was his personality, the sense that Draco could say pretty much anything to him and Kyle would probably be able to come back with something even more embarrassing about himself, that made Draco feel like the bloke had stumbled into his life at just the right moment.

It was a ridiculous, romantic notion, but it was sort of nice to have ridiculous, romantic notions after spending so much time being pragmatic lately. 

Of course, there was the small problem of the fact that pursuing anything with Kyle – and, if he was honest with himself, that was  _definitely_ where this was heading – meant outing himself to Pansy, as well as the other Slytherins, in all likelihood.

 _You have to do it sometime_ , said a small voice.  _Why not now?_

But he couldn’t go there, not quite yet. He had to know what this could be. It had to be something beyond just an initial attraction.

“Did you meet Pansy through the Ministry?” he asked, hoping to at least get Kyle talking about himself so he could learn a little more. “Or did you know Theo first?”

“Pansy,” Kyle said. “And actually, Lindsey met her first. There was this fundraising event at the Ministry and I was just going to skip it, but Lindsey desperately wanted to go. She loves that kind of stuff. Pretty much any chance she can get to meet new people.”

Draco nodded, understanding the incredulity in the other man’s voice. Draco had just the opposite attitude to Lindsey’s regarding Ministry functions. From the sound of it, Kyle did too.

“She immediately started working the room,  _of course._ ” Kyle rolled his eyes, though his smile was affectionate. “And along the way met Pansy. And they hit it off, and Lindsey introduced me. And then like a week later Pansy started inviting us to parties. Lindsey always wanted to go.”

“So you went along?”

Kyle shrugged. “Sure. It’s not like I hate parties or anything. It’s not that I hate meeting new people. And it’s not that I don’t like talking. But I don’t like meeting a bunch of new people all at once. And I  _hate_ small talk. Like, with a passion. It makes me want to tear my hair out.”

“Or get blind drunk,” Draco offered.

Kyle laughed. “Yeah, exactly. Something along those lines. Anyway, what I usually do is find like one or two people at a party and just go, like, really deep with them. I make it my life’s mission to know everything about them. But some people aren’t into that. I guess they think it’s creepy.”

Draco laughed. “I suppose it could be.”

“But the way I see it,” Kyle went on, “there’s no real point in meeting someone new if you’re not going to actually try to get to know them. And you never know who you might hit it off with. I actually met my most recent boyfriend, the one I lived with in Toronto, I mean – but, we’re not together anymore – but yeah, I just met him at a party and ended up talking to him all night and…” He shrugged. “There you have it.”

Draco looked at Kyle sideways, a sly smile forming involuntarily along his lips.  _So subtle, Kyle,_ he wanted to tease. Showing his interest in men and making it clear he was single in one mere sentence. Impressive. And ridiculously endearing, for some reason. But he didn’t know if Kyle would appreciate him bringing it up. So he just decided to run with the topic of conversation had been presented to him.

“You had a live-in boyfriend back in Canada.”

“Yeah.” Kyle nodded. “For almost three years. Well, we didn’t live together all that time. We were only living together about six months before I moved here.”

“Is that why you broke up, because of the move? Or did you move because you broke up?”

Kyle chuckled. “A little of both, I guess. There’s nothing like living with someone to magnify all the things that were already wrong with your relationship. We argued a lot, about stupid things. I couldn’t see it at the time, but he was always trying to change things about me. But like, subtly. So I didn’t even notice. I don’t know. I was looking for a new job and trying to keep it in Toronto at least because he really didn’t want to move, and then the offer from your Ministry came and it was like… I don’t know. I realized I was actually seriously considering it. It was too good to pass up, you know? But he was the opposite of supportive. We had a huge fight about it, and it drudged up all this other stuff, like all this resentment I had from how I had built my life around him and what he wanted and he was never doing the same in return, and how he always had expectations about how I needed to be  _for_ him… As soon as I refused to fit the picture of who he wanted me to be and the life he wanted to build he became totally distant. That’s when I realized he actually didn’t like me very much.” He was quiet for a few moments as he looked out over the gardens. Draco didn’t reply or try to push him, only watched and listened. “And that kind of sucks,” he said matter-of-factly. “It really sucks to realize that someone you thought loved you doesn’t even really  _like_ you.”

Draco laughed aloud at the irony of that, especially given what he had just been thinking about before Kyle arrived. It wasn’t until Kyle ducked his head and spoke softly that Draco realized how his laughter might be construed.

“Sorry. I don’t meant to, like, give you my life story when you didn’t ask for it.”

“No, that’s not it,” Draco reassured him. “It’s just interesting, because I was quite literally just thinking, while I was sitting alone out here, about my ex-wife and the fact that we never fought when we were married and how she never really asked anything of me at all. It’s like I had the exact opposite problem you had. She went along with everything I said, and was basically completely…  _passive_ , I suppose is the word for it. And I’m realizing now that maybe she was just indifferent to me. Which, frankly, I think is almost worse than realizing your partner dislikes you.”

“Is that why you got divorced? Because she was indifferent?”

“She was unfaithful to me,” Draco said. “Many, many times.” He didn’t feel like telling the whole story, not tonight. And he had a feeling that Kyle wouldn’t react the way Paul and David had, trying to milk him for every detail like it was just some juicy story they were reading in a novel. He had a feeling Kyle knew a little something about rejection, enough that he wouldn’t find such a story amusing.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said simply.

“Thank you, but there’s no need to be. She set me free. I was shackled to her in an arranged marriage, and I would have stayed in it for the rest of my life if I hadn’t learned of her infidelity. I had no idea I was stuck with someone who would do that, who didn’t even respect me enough to stay true. So she did me a favor, even if she didn’t mean to.”

“You’re better off.”

Draco nodded. “Without a doubt.”

Kyle smiled softly. “That makes two of us, then.”

“And we’re not even just pretending it’s true to make ourselves feel better,” Draco added. “It’s actually true.”

Kyle laughed. “You’re right.”

“Have you dated anyone since you moved here?”

“Hmm,” Kyle said. “It depends on your definition of ‘dating.’”

It was Draco’s turn to laugh. “One-offs?”

“What? No,” said Kyle, shaking his head. “Not like that. I just meant I’ve met a few cute guys in various situations and flirted a lot and kind of hung out with them a bit. But none of it ever amounted to anything. I don’t know. When I hit it off with someone, I really hit it off. But I’m actually kind of picky. It’s hard to meet my type of guy.”

“Your type?”

“I don’t know…” He smiled nervously. “Really smart, I guess, and not afraid to hide it. Willing to talk about real things, ask important questions. Gets my sense of humor. Basically  _not_ the kind of guy who hangs out at bars just looking to hook up. And considering it can be really hard to meet men who like other men, especially if you’re new to a place,  _without_ going to gay bars… It’s just kind of frustrating. I guess I should take a leaf out of Lindsey’s book and just go around meeting everyone I can. But I just… ugh. I can’t bring myself to.”

Draco considered that. “I don’t know about that. I tend to think you’re better off doing things in your own time, they way  _you_ want to do them. Otherwise, are you really being yourself?”

“I don’t know if I would go that far,” said Kyle. “I think you can step our of your comfort zone and still be yourself. That’s what my parents and my sister are always telling me, anyway. That I should take more risks.” He chuckled. “For Christmas actually my mom bought me one of those Muggle coffee mugs with the writing on it, you know?”

Draco nodded. He was vaguely familiar.

“It said, ‘Life begins at the edge of your comfort zone.’  _That’s_ how risk-averse I am. My mom is buying me freaking coffee mugs about it.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief, and also in camaraderie. “That sounds like something my father would do. He has very clear ideas about what I should do and how I should do it. But it’s becoming more and more clear to me as time goes on that I should just say ‘fuck him’ and do what I want.” He looked at Kyle and smiled. “So I say fuck the coffee mug and do what makes you happy.”

Kyle laughed. “Maybe you’re right. It would definitely make my life less stressful.”

“I don’t think a person can go through life without some risk. But I always prefer calculated risks, worthwhile risks. I don’t think it makes sense to rush headlong into a situation without thinking it through. And I don’t much fancy the idea of taking risks just for the sake of it. It has to…  _mean_ something. It has to be for a good reason.”

“I feel the same way,” said Kyle.

They were silent, looking out over the garden.

“I’m not out, you know,” Draco said suddenly. He saw Kyle turn to him sharply out of the corner of his eye. “To the world, I mean. I’m out to some of my friends. But no one here, not at this party.”

“Not even to Pansy?”

Draco shook his head. “It’s a recent development, you understand. Not like I  _became_ bisexual suddenly or anything like that. I just discovered it later than most. After my divorce, I reevaluated a lot about my life and what I wanted, and I figured out I liked men as well as women. Sometimes I think I might actually like men a bit more. It all happened while I was at Hogwarts this year, so some of my friends there know. But I haven’t had the chance to tell Pansy.” He smiled wryly. “Well, in truth, I’ve been avoiding telling her, because she’s one of my oldest friends.”

“It’s so much harder to come out to the people who’ve known you all or most of your life,” said Kyle. “Especially if they don’t see it coming.”

Draco nodded. “I’m seeing the truth of that. When it comes to my parents, for example… I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do it. I’m not sure I could bear the way I know my father would look at me.”

“With disappointment?”

“With disgust,” said Draco. “And he wouldn’t bother trying to hide it.”

To Draco’s surprise, Kyle put a hand over his. It was gentle, tentative, almost like a question. But when Draco turned his palm over and welcomed the touch, Kyle‘s grip tightened just slightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That would be really hard. I’m lucky that my family has been supportive, but I’ve had friends in a similar situation to yours. They handled it differently in each case, but I could see how each way had its pros and cons.”

Draco watched him, listening with a furrowed brow.

“I guess what I mean is I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to go about handling it. I think you should do what you feel is right. And if you’re not ready to come out… Well… Only you can truly know that for yourself.”

“That’s just it, though,” said Draco. “Most of the night I’ve been thinking how nice it would be if I didn’t have to hide, if Pansy just knew I liked men and was fine with it, like I know she will be. She’s already told me she wouldn’t mind if her own son was gay. I know she would be supportive of me, if not surprised. And yes, there are other old schoolmates of mine here who I’ve known a painfully long time, so they would find out too. But if they didn’t approve, I wouldn’t care, honestly. Pansy would give them a talking to and put them in line anyway.”

Kyle laughed and nodded. “True.”

“So really, it seems ridiculous  _not_ to come out to my friends, when I think about it like that. When I think about the detriments of Pansy not knowing the truth. When I think about what it’s keeping me from.”

“From being yourself, you mean? From being honest?”

“Yes, that,” Draco replied with a sly smile. His fingers intertwined with Kyle’s. “But, more specifically, how it would keep me from really getting to know the first bloke I’ve properly liked in quite some time.”

He watched Kyle closely, waiting for him to absorb the words. He knew they’d hit their mark when a soft blush stole across the brunet’s cheeks and his mouth formed the smallest twitch of a smile.

“Oh.”

“You have no idea how annoyed I was at the irony of the situation when I realized I was much more interested in you than your sister,” said Draco, hoping he wasn’t being too forward. But he felt Kyle had given him enough hints that his interest would be welcome. They were sitting there holding  _hands_ for Merlin’s sake. “It felt like some kind of joke the universe was playing on me, like it was taunting me almost. But maybe that’s not it at all. Maybe it was the sign I needed in order to know I should take the next step and come out to my closest friends.”

Kyle stared at their entwined hands.

“All because of me?”

“Does it surprise you?”

“We just met. You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right. But I want to. I’ve seen and heard enough already to know that I want to.”

The brunet laughed nervously. “My rambling about how I hate small talk?”

“Yes. Because it wasn’t rambling. And I hate small talk too.” On instinct, Draco reached up and lightly caressed a lock of hair that had fallen over Kyle’s eye. It made the man look up at him, wide-eyed.

“What do you…? I mean… What are you saying exactly?”

Draco’s hand drifted down past Kyle’s temple until his fingertips were resting on the side of Kyle’s cheek, where the skin was surprisingly soft. “I suppose I’m wondering if you’d like to come back to mine for a little while, have a drink with me. That is, if it isn’t bad form to leave your sister on her own.”

“She has her own place,” Kyle said, his incredulous eyes never leaving Draco’s. “She’s sub-letting an apartment for the summer. We both do a lot of things on our own.”

“Well, good then. What do you think?”

Kyle swallowed. “All right.”

Draco grinned. “All right?”

“Are we going now?”

Draco grinned wider. “If you want. I have to… you know, come out to Pansy and everything, tell her where I’m going and with whom.”

“You’re going to do it right now?”

Draco stood. “No time like the present.” He felt giddy and daring, and he wasn’t sure entirely where it came from. He supposed he was just tired of all the subterfuge and talking around the issue with her.

“You couldn’t just do it in the morning, after the fact?”

“Why wait?” said Draco. “And don’t you have to say goodbye to your sister, at least?”

Kyle nodded slowly. “I mean yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“She’s going to want to know where you’re going.”

“Sure, but I don’t have to tell her. Not if you don’t want me to.”

On a whim, Draco bent towards Kyle, who was still sitting on the bench, and gave him a peck on the lips. He was pleased to find them plump and soft, exactly how he liked them. “You’re sweet,” he said. “But you don’t need to hide anything from her. I’m tired of hiding.”

“Ok…” Kyle looked a bit dazed, but he stood too, taking Draco’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll meet you by the front door, I guess?”

“The floo in the front sitting room, actually,” Draco corrected him. “That will be easier.”

“Ok then.”

They parted ways once they were back inside again, Draco to seek out Pansy and Kyle to find his sister.

Pansy was easy, since it turned out she was looking for him as well.

“There you are!” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “Where did you disappear off to? I thought you had left without saying goodbye.”

“I would never do that,” Draco assured her.

“Even when you’re angry with me?” she ventured, and Draco realized that she was taking their earlier conversation to heart.

“Even then. And I’m not even remotely angry at you.”

She watched his face silently.

“I  _am_ leaving now, though.”

“Oh? I was hoping you’d stay and have another drink. Theo’s barely gotten to speak to you at all.”

“I know. But I… well…” Merlin, this was harder than it needed to be. His energy and gusto from before had waned somewhat. “The truth is, Pans… I’ve met someone at the party, and they’ve accepted my invitation to come back to the manor with me and…” He couldn’t help but grin. “I like him quite a bit, so I think this is a promising prospect.”

Pansy openly gaped at him for at least twenty seconds. “You did say ‘him,’ right?” She managed finally. “I didn’t just… I’m not just hearing things.”

“Him. Yes. I’m bisexual, it turns out. Been meaning to tell you, actually, but I’ve been putting it off. So… sorry about that.”

“I…” Pansy was at a complete loss for words, but Draco found he couldn’t properly enjoy it, not until he was sure she would accept him. “Well… what does a person say at a time like this? Congratulations?”

“Uh, well, I’m not entirely sure that’s the phrasing I would use, but sure. Let’s go with it.” Pansy was still staring at him, though she didn’t look angry or repulsed, and that was something. “Anyway, Kyle’s waiting for me, so I best be off.”

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Kyle?”

“Kyle Bergeron. Lindsey’s brother. Did I not mention that?”

“Um, no. You didn’t.”

“Well… It’s him. He’s quite fit, you know, actually. Sort of charming in a bumbling, self-conscious kind of way. And a great conversationalist. Very stimulating. Anyway, not sure what’s going to happen tonight but with any luck we’ll be blowing each other by the end of the week. All right, well, cheerio then, love. See you later.” He attempted a hasty kiss to her cheek, but she grabbed him to stop him.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said. “You cannot simply drop something like this on me and then walk away. You have to… you have to give me time to process this.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know,” he said gently. “I know it’s sudden, for you at least. But for me it’s not as sudden as all that.”

“How long have you known?”

“Not quite a year. I realized it not long after I started at Hogwarts.”

She considered that. “That’s not very long at all.”

“No,” he agreed.

“Lindsey’s very protective of her brother, you know,” she said. “I hope you’re not just using him to experiment. I don’t think she would like that.”

“It’s not that at all, I promise. Kyle is hardly…” He felt a blush come to his cheeks. “I’ve done plenty of experimenting. With Muggle men I picked up at clubs, mostly.” He ignored Pansy’s shocked expression. “This is different. I really like him. I don’t know what will happen, of course. But it’s not a lark. Hopefully it will be something good.”

 “Do your parents know?”

Draco scoffed. “Of course not. Hardly anyone knows. You’re one of the first I’ve told. I’d rather…” He realized this was probably an important thing to relay, and in his haste had nearly forgotten about it. “If it’s possible to avoid them finding at this stage, that would be best. Obviously if I end up… choosing a man as a partner, that’s a different story, but-“

“You can’t be serious. You would actually-”

Draco stared at her. “I’m being serious, Pansy. Perfectly serious.”

She looked at him almost sadly. “I won’t tell them. And I’ll make sure the gossip mill doesn’t spread it, to the best of my abilities. But you’re opening a box you can’t close back up again, Draco. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t, not all the time,” he said truthfully. “All I know is I’m finally being honest for the first time in a long time. Maybe even ever, when it comes to  _true_ honesty, to really being myself. But I’m tired of hiding it, and I wanted you to know.”

She stared at him a moment longer before embracing him fiercely. “I love you,” she said.

He smiled and held her tightly. “I love you too.”

“Just be careful, would you?”

“I will.”

She pulled away. “Go then. I have about a million questions but I have to think about all of this. You picked a bloody inconvenient time to tell me all about it, you know.”

He grinned unabashedly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” she replied, shoving him playfully. “Now, go. Before Kyle comes to his senses and realizes how ridiculously high maintenance you are.”

Draco clutched his chest as though wounded, but in truth he really didn’t want to leave Kyle waiting. So he simply flashed her another grin and turned, making his way to the front of the house.

Kyle was there, standing in front of the fire with one hip cocked and looking at the mantle décor absently. 

“Hi,” said Draco. He suddenly felt a bit nervous. He’d never done anything like this before; he was never one to readily invite a person he’d just met back to his home, and definitely not someone he thought he might like to date. It felt personal,  _real_ , in a way he hadn’t experienced when it was the other way around and men were taking him home to theirs.

On the other hand, he was sort of enjoying this Gryffindor-esque impulsiveness that had come over him, and he figured he should ride this train as long as it was running, no matter how it turned out.

Kyle turned to him with that soft, shy smile that Draco was already starting to recognize. “Hi. How did it go with Pansy?”

“Really well, I think, all told,” said Draco. “She was genuinely surprised. Shocked, even. But she seems all right with it.”

“You thought maybe she’d figured it out already or something? That’s how my sister was, when I came out to her. She basically told I didn’t need to bother because, ‘Umm…  _duh_ ,’ I believe her words were.”

Draco laughed. “Well, when a person knows us well enough I guess part of us expects that they somehow already know all of our secrets. But of course that’s not true.”

“Are you disappointed? That she didn’t already have it figured out?”

“I don’t really think I have a right to be. I really didn’t give her any reason to suspect. I’ve played things pretty close to the chest most of my life, actually.”

“Still, you might have hoped anyway, and that’s all right.”

Draco came closer, putting a tentative hand on Kyle’s waist. Kyle put a hand on his arm, encouraging the touch. “I’m not sure if I was hoping for it or not. I’m not sure it matters. I think I’m just glad it’s done.”

Kyle’s arm squeezed Draco’s very lightly, as if in reassurance.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked him.

“Sure,” the brunet replied.

Draco flooed in first, since the manor’s wards didn’t much like a stranger arriving in the home without a Malfoy already present. But Kyle came tumbling in not far behind him. As soon as he arrived and had finished dusting himself off he looked around the front hall with an impressed raise of the eyebrows.

“Out of one pureblood mansion and into another, I guess, huh?” he said with a laugh.

“I suppose so,” Draco agreed. He leaned in and added, in a conspiratorial murmur, “Although I’ll have you know that Malfoy Manor is much older and  _much_ larger than the Nott estate. Not that I’m one to boast.” He gave Kyle a wink, then took his hand and started leading him down the hall.

“You know,” Kyle replied in an amused tone, “there are many who claim that age is just a number and that size doesn’t matter.”

“And those people would be wrong,” Draco quipped, making his accent as posh as possible. “Of course, I’ve always thought that above size, it’s always mattered more how well-decorated it is.”

He heard Kyle choke on a laugh. “Um, what?”

Draco looked at him innocently. “Mansions, of course. I’m talking about mansions. Why, what are  _you_ talking about?”

Kyle shook his head in apparent disbelief, or perhaps embarrassment, but he bumped Draco’s shoulder in an affectionate way that Draco took as a sign that he enjoyed the teasing.

“Come, the parlor in the west wing is coziest.”

“Ah, yes, the parlor in the west wing, of course,” Kyle said, doing a halfway decent impression of Draco’s voice and making the blond chuckle. Despite the mild mocking, Kyle seemed genuinely interested in the manor and asked him questions about the portraits and artifacts that they passed. Draco was happy to answer his questions, and their conversation extended all the way to their destination. Kyle looked around that space too, noticing every detail, this time silently. 

Draco called for Nixie, and she appeared immediately. He greeted her and introduced her to Kyle, who greeted her quite kindly as well.

“Drinks for master and his guest?” Nixie asked eagerly.

“What would you like?” Draco said, turning to Kyle. “Nixie can get you whatever you want. Wine, whiskey, tea?”

“I, um,” Kyle mussed his hair as he thought about it. “Tea, I think.”

“Right away, sirs,” Nixie said, bowing low.

“Have a seat,” Draco said, gesturing toward the sofa. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Kyle craned his neck, staring at the piece of furniture in question, looking strangely apprehensive.

“Look, um,” he said, turning back to Draco. “This is really nice. I’m glad we’re, you know, getting to know each other better. But I don’t usually do this. Not – I mean – not  _this_ , I mean… I, you know, drink tea and sit on sofas and stuff. Obviously. That’s not what I mean. It’s just…” He let out a breath with a soft “hoo,” grinning nervously. “It’s just that you’re, like, really hot. Like, distractingly hot. Which is a bit of a problem because I’m looking at you with all your hotness and suddenly you’re inviting me back to your place for a drink, and I’m just saying I don’t usually do that kind of thing. When I’ve just met someone I mean. I’m just not sure… I didn’t want you to think…”

“Kyle,” Draco said, finally showing him some mercy. He was enjoying the nervous stuttering quite a bit, but he could see the poor bloke wanted to be put out of his misery. “Are you trying to say that you don’t do one-offs? That you don’t sleep with people you just met?”

“Yes,” he replied with a sigh of relief. “That’s what I’m saying. It’s not a judgment or anything, you know. It’s just not my usual style.”

Draco took a step toward him, giving him a warm smile. “I knew that already, when I invited you back here.”

“Oh,” said Kyle, his blue eyes wide as he watched Draco approach. 

“You essentially told me as much, when we were talking in the garden. I invited you over because I want to get to know you better, like you said. It doesn’t have to mean we sleep together. I’m not saying I’m  _opposed_ to that, mind you. You’re quite fit as well, you know, not to mention unbearably cute when you’re nervous.”

“Shut up,” Kyle said, staring at the floor, a blush evident on his cheeks. “I know I sound like an idiot. I promise I don’t always sound like an idiot. I think your hotness has obliterated some of my brain cells.”

“I think it’s adorable,” Draco said, putting a finger under Kyle’s chin to lift his head. Kyle met his gaze again, and Draco took the opportunity, now that he was touching the other man, to run a thumb lightly over his plump bottom lip, making the brunet’s breath stutter. “I like it, is what I’m saying. It feels more real to me than anything I’ve experienced in a long time. I guess you could say I’ve been with a lot of smooth talkers lately. I like you better. I like you a lot.” He dropped his hand but leaned in, adding something else in a conspiratorial whisper. “And you want to know something else?”

Kyle nodded emphatically, not even blinking.

“I don’t usually do this either, invite someone back to the manor like this. So I’m nervous too. I want this to go well. I want you to be comfortable and I want you to like me. So,” he gestured at the coffee table in front of the sofa, where a tea tray had been delivered discreetly by Nixie a few moments before, “let’s just sit, have some tea, and talk. Whatever happens or doesn’t happen, I’m guessing I’m still going to like you tomorrow. And the day after that as well, I imagine.”

Kyle let out a shaky laugh and nodded. “Yeah, ok. That sounds good. I’m sorry, for jumping to conclusions. I guess it really has been a while.”

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry for a moment,” Draco said, placing a gentle hand on his back and guiding him towards the sofa. “How do you like your tea?”

He doctored it with milk and sugar per Kyle’s request and then asked him about adjusting to life in London. Kyle seemed happy with the topic, since he had plenty of anecdotes to share about his first few weeks. Turned out he had a pretty terrible sense of direction and found the London streets very confusing.

“Thank Merlin for Apparition, is all I can say,” said Kyle. “I’m still not sure I could find my way to the Ministry every day if I had to take the underground.”

“You don’t floo in?”

“My apartment doesn’t have a fireplace,” Kyle told him, then laughed at Draco’s incredulous expression. “Not ideal. It’s No-maj – Muggle, I mean – and it was what I could afford, so…” He shrugged. “It’s fine. I live with it. The apartment Lindsey is staying in while she’s here has one, of course, because she’s always been lucky like that. Plus she makes a lot more money than I do.”

“Private Potions labs in Canada pay that well, do they?”

“They pay decently well, but the real money is in the patents. For any major breakthrough the lab shares the patent with the employee who discovered it, and Lindsey’s basically a genius, so she’s made a lot of discoveries. She gets to make money off of those too.”

“But that’s not your priority, making money.”

Kyle shrugged. “Not really. I don’t  _mind_ money, obviously. But… no it’s not that important. If I have enough to survive, then I’m happy.”

“You’d rather just help the disabled walk again.”

Kyle turned red. “Ugh, can we not talk about that? Lindsey always makes it sound like a much bigger deal than it actually is.”

“Mm, if you say so.”

“It’s not false modesty, I swear. I just don’t want you to get the impression that I can wave my wand and work miracles because I honestly can’t. It’s just a prototype at this point anyway, and… I don’t know. I guess I feel a lot of pressure about it.”

“All right, then let me ask you this,” said Draco, sensing his genuine discomfort. He gestured about the room. “Does all of this make you hate me?”

Kyle laughed. “What? The house?” 

“Yes,” Draco said emphatically, glad he could make him relax a bit. “Because I have to admit, sitting here listening to you talk about your work  _and_ your sister’s, and having heard Lindsey tell me about her projects earlier tonight… I can’t help but think that what I’ve contributed to the world pales in comparison. Made even worse by the fact that we’re sitting here in my family’s mansion, which I had been hoping you would find impressive, but now I’m thinking you’re going to find it the opposite and think I’m some upper-class prat who’s never worked a day in his life.”

Kyle shook his head, grinning. “Don’t be ridiculous. I  _know_ how hard you work. I overheard some of what you said to Lindsey about your students. You’re obviously a passionate teacher, which I think is really…” He took a sip of his tea, turning red again. “…you know, attractive. And really sweet. So yeah, I don’t much care about the huge house and the fancy furniture but you’re plenty impressive without all that.” He placed his teacup on the table, and Draco couldn’t help but notice the way that when he sat back again, he was just a few inches closer to Draco than before.

“I am, am I?” he said, turning his body fully towards Kyle, who copied him.

“Definitely.” 

“Is that why you came to find me in the garden?”

Kyle scratched an eyebrow, hiding behind his hand for a moment. “I guess.”

“You guess,” Draco teased, scooting a bit closer. Their elbows were resting side by side on the back of the sofa now.

Kyle huffed. “I already admitted how ridiculously attractive I find you. Do we really need to go on about it? Do I need to write you an epic poem about your hotness, or something, and then you’ll be satisfied?”

“No need for an  _epic poem_ ,” said Draco. “A simple sonnet will do just fine.”

Kyle chuckled. “You’re very quick-witted.”

“That’s kind of you to say.”

“It’s pretty intimidating.”

“I promise I’m not trying to be.”

“I know. You’re trying to be the opposite. Which is why I’m still here.”

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Draco told him honestly.

Kyle looked in his eyes for a moment, then looked down again. “Gods. I really like you, I think.”

“Good. I feel the same way.”

“It hasn’t happened to me in a while.”

“That’s all right.”

“I’m not even really sure what to do about it.”

“Whatever you want, I would think,” said Draco, trying to sound reasonable. But he was aware that his voice had gone a bit husky, and Kyle was leaning into him, awfully close now. He was leaning in too, and he wondered, for a moment, if Kyle would mind a kiss. He could make it chaste, like he did back in the garden, and go from there.

But before he had time to decide either way, Kyle kissed him. Draco experienced only a moment of surprise before he kissed back, letting Kyle take the lead. It was tentative at first, just lips massaging against lips, but Kyle obviously liked what he felt, because he kissed harder, then suckled on Draco’s bottom lip. Draco moaned in approval and ventured a flick of a tongue against Kyle’s, who moaned in return. 

And suddenly they were kissing properly, passionately, with Kyle’s hands gripping Draco’s hair and Draco putting his arm around Kyle’s waist to pull him closer. Kyle accepted the invitation wholeheartedly, practically clambering into Draco’s lap. It brought parts of them closer in new, enticing ways, and Draco couldn’t help a gasp. He was getting hard quickly, and it was abundantly clear that Kyle was too.

This was certainly going in a direction Draco didn’t expect, considering the conversation they’d had before they sat down. But Kyle was grinding against him deliciously now, and Draco found his hand snaking between them automatically, testing the waters by giving Kyle’s covered cock a tentative stroke. Kyle groaned and kissed him with even more fierceness, and Draco allowed his movements to become bolder.

When Kyle pulled away for some air, Draco decided to seize the opportunity to take this further.

“Can I suck you off?” he asked breathlessly while Kyle panted on top of him.

“What?” Kyle asked, pulling away just a bit more and meeting Draco’s eyes. Draco couldn’t tell if the brunet was bothered or simply dazed, and he decided to be cautious.

“Too much too soon?” he asked, moving his hand from Kyle’s erection to his bony hip. “We can stop if you want.” Though, in truth, he really, really hoped they didn’t.

“No, I… Merlin, I don’t know.” Kyle hesitated, his tongue flitting nervously over his lip. “But it sounds so… Coming out of your mouth, it sounds so good.”

“No pressure to reciprocate,” Draco promised, his hand now massaging Kyle’s thigh in a manner he hoped was both seductive and reassuring. “I just find myself really wanting to know what you taste like. And what you look like when you come.”

Kyle moaned and gave him a sensual kiss. "Then yes. Fuck yes. Please.”

Grinning widely, Draco flipped Kyle over onto his back so he was laying longways across the sofa. He fondled the brunet through his jeans again, starting to tease, before leaving that behind to unbutton his shirt from top to bottom.

“This all right?” he asked as he did it. “I want to play with you a little.”

Kyle nodded emphatically and stared up at him through hooded eyes. Draco reached the final button and then opened the shirt completely, revealing Kyle’s pale, bare torso.

He was thin, even thinner than Draco, and not at all like the very muscular bloke that Draco had been with most recently. But that was all right. There was a kind of masculine elegance to the sinewy lines of his prominent ribs that Draco found both unexpected and arousing. He bent his head in appreciation and flicked his tongue out to sample one of Kyle’s pebbled nipples. The brunet writhed invitingly, making Draco smile against his skin as he took the nub into his mouth and sucked.

“Mmm… fuck,” Kyle said, obviously enjoying it.

Draco lavished attention on the other nipple for a bit, getting a similar reaction and more encouragement, then started working his way down Kyle’s abdomen, feeling the hard breastbone under his lips before it opened at the ribs and dipped inwards. Kyle’s skin was soft and nearly hairless. There was only a small dusting on his chest and then a sparse trail from his belly button down to the edge of his jeans. Draco tongued his navel and followed the trail with his lips while his hands slid up to undo the buttons on his fly.

He could feel Kyle watching him, so as he gripped the waistband of the jeans he lifted his head to meet Kyle’s eyes and gave him a carnal smirk that he hoped would up Kyle’s anticipation even more. Based on the desperate hunger in the man’s eyes, Draco had succeeded. He pulled the jeans and underwear down just enough to free his hard cock, which bobbed up eagerly as if rejoicing in being free. It was long and slim, not unlike Kyle himself, and Draco took a moment to appreciate it before flitting his tongue out to lick gently at the head.

Kyle gasped and Draco kept going, tonguing the slit and enjoying the light salt of precum. He wrapped his lips around the head to take more of it in, groaning as he did. Kyle was trembling under him, breathing heavily. Draco bobbed his head once, taking Kyle about halfway in, and the brunet’s groaned echoed erotically through the otherwise empty sitting room. Draco did it again, going farther this time, and Kyle moaned in approval. A hand came up to grip Draco’s hair, but Kyle didn’t overdo it to the point of pain or try to control Draco’s movements. He was showing a tremendous amount of restraint, especially when Draco managed to fully relax his throat and take him nearly all the way inside.

“Oooohhhh,  _Draco_ ,” Kyle said, sounding awed. “How… how the fuck do you…?”

Draco bobbed his head a bit more, then took him all the way in again and swallowed.

“Oh fuck. Oh Gods. Oh fuck!” Kyle said. “You’re so fucking good. You are so fucking  _good_.”

Draco felt pride swell warm and pleasant in his chest. He had gotten quite good at this. Many of his recent one-offs had told him as much, in one form or another. But hearing it from Kyle felt different. He was so sweet, so earnest, and he was squirming and whimpering and saying “Oh  _Gods_ ” like he couldn’t even believe how good it felt. And that made Draco nearly ready to come right there.

But Kyle was the priority first. Judging by the shaking and the tiny thrusts of his hips, it wasn’t going to take much more for him to be coming down Draco’s throat.

Sure enough, as Draco kept bobbing his head and sucking hard, occasionally pausing to take that long cock in deeper, Kyle started to say his name more and more desperately, finally gripping Draco’s hair tightly and crying out. Draco took it all, careful not to spill a drop.

“Sweet fucking…” Kyle said, panting. “That was so…” Apparently he was incapable of completing a sentence.

Draco gave him a satisfied grin as he palmed himself through his trousers. He was incredibly close to coming, but he wasn’t sure how Kyle would feel about him just whipping out his cock.

“Do you mind if I-“

“Let me,” Kyle said, correctly guessing the question. An elegant, long-fingered hand reached toward Draco’s groin.

“I meant what I said,” Draco told him. “There’s no pressure at all. I love giving head. See how much it turns me on?”

“Gods, you are fucking  _hot_. Fuck.” Kyle replaced Draco’s teasing hand with his own. “I want to get you off. I really, really want to. Trust me.”

“Well, if you insist,” said Draco, holding up his hands to show that Kyle was in charge now. “I certainly won’t say no.”

“Where’s your bedroom?” Kyle asked.

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. He’d expected a hurried hand job on the sofa and no more than that.

“I want to see you naked,” Kyle added, his face going a bit red. “I’ve been thinking about you naked all night, actually.”

“You don’t say,” Draco said teasingly. “We can do something about that, I suppose.” He climbed off the sofa and offered the brunet a hand. “Come with me.”

Kyle stood, probably expecting to be led through the house. Instead Draco pulled him close and spun on the spot, Apparating them together. His bedroom was two floors up and in an entirely different wing of the house, and he was in no mood to walk all the way there with this aching erection.

When they landed, Kyle stumbled a bit and Draco caught him by his elbows. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said, laughing. “Some warning would have been nice, though. My brain is still fuzzy from coming so hard.”

Draco’s cock stiffened further at those words, growing truly uncomfortable in its confines now, but Draco still managed a reply. “Doesn’t help I obliterated all those brain cells with my hotness, does it?”

Kyle shoved him playfully against his stomach in retaliation, moving him towards the bed. “My turn to do some obliterating, I think. Do you like receiving head as much as you like giving it?”

Draco tilted his head and tapped a finger on his lips, enjoying the banter. “Hmmm… let me think about it.”

Kyle laughed, then pulled Draco close for a kiss. “Or,” he said, his expression sobering a bit, “we could… I mean. Are you… Are you a top? You seem like a top.”

Draco eyed him. “I am,” he said. He almost added “exclusively,” but stopped himself. That was what he had told the other men he had slept with, making it clear that positions were non-negotiable. He couldn’t bring myself to bottom for anyone, not after what he’d done with Harry. He wasn’t sure why that was. He just couldn’t.

But he didn’t feel a need to be so adamant with Kyle, which showed just how much more comfortable Draco was with him than any of those Muggles.

“Good,” Kyle said, his eyes flitting to Draco’s lips a moment. “Because I prefer to bottom.”

“All right,” Draco replied, thrown by the direction this was heading in. Kyle was being a bit inconsistent, and it made him wonder. “Are you saying you want me to fuck you?”

“We could, if you want,” said Kyle.

“What do  _you_ want?” Draco asked, trying to sort out what Kyle was thinking. He’d never had this problem with Harry, all these mixed signals. Kyle didn’t answer right away, seeming stymied. “We don’t have to fuck tonight. We don’t have to do anything tonight. I hope you’re not rushing things to please me or something.”

“I, um…”

“I meant what I said,” Draco insisted, still watching him carefully. Kyle’s eyebrows were knitted together slightly, as if he were trying to sort out Draco’s motives the same way Draco was trying to sort out his. “Whatever happens or doesn’t happen, I’ll be fine with it. But what I really don’t want is for you to ask me to fuck you because you think you have to or just to make me like you or something.” Kyle stared at him, looking utterly bewildered. And almost forlorn. “Are you all right?”

“How are you this…  _nice_?” Kyle asked finally.

Draco let out a surprised huff of laughter. “Been hanging around a lot of arseholes lately, have you?”

Kyle grinned nervously. “No, it’s not that. It’s just… I don’t know.”

“Did  _I_ come across as an arsehole at first?” Draco knew he could, if he was feeling aloof or just in a bit of a mood. Still, to hear it was so would sting a bit. He liked to think he’d become a kinder person over the years.

“Gods, no. Not even at all. I liked you straight away, and not just because you’re so good looking. I just meant…” He sighed. “I honestly don’t even know anymore.” He wiped a hand over his eyes.

Something clicked in Draco’s brain, remembering his failed attempt with Rick the Prick all those many months ago and what Harry said afterwards.  _Just because a person is good-looking doesn’t mean they’ll be a good lover. Some blokes think they’re doing you a favor just by being with you._

“It’s possible to be both attractive and kind at the same time, you know,” Draco said, making his tone amused and hoping to put Kyle at ease again. “They aren’t mutually exclusive. You’re living proof of that yourself.”

Kyle laughed genuinely now. “Thanks. I mean, yeah. Obviously. That’s true. About that you can be both, I mean. I’m just an idiot. And awkward as hell. In case that wasn’t obvious.”

Draco cupped Kyle’s chin and kissed him soundly. “Adorable, actually. Fucking adorable, which I believe I’ve mentioned already.”

Kyle kissed him back. “I can’t help it,” he said.

“I know.”

“So…”

“So. I believe you mentioned something about seeing me naked. And something about me receiving oral sex. Still interested?”

“Most definitely.”

“Then let’s get naked, shall we?”

Kyle grabbed Draco and kissed him deeply. “You know, for someone who says they’re tired of smooth talkers, you’re a pretty smooth talker yourself. Just saying.”

“’Let’s get naked’ is the epitome of a clever pickup line in Canada, then, is it?” Draco replied with a smirk.

“Shut up,” Kyle said with a disbelieving shake of his head and a massive grin still on his face.

“Should I fumble around a bit more or something? Stutter my words? Try to sexily remove my jumper only to get stuck halfway inside it? Would that make you feel better?”

“Yeah, that sounds pretty good actually,” Kyle replied, removing Draco’s jumper easily and without any fuss at all. “And if you could throw in a few embarrassing sounds or turns of phrase once I have my mouth around your dick, that might help too.”

“All right. Did you have any special requests? ‘Sweet baby unicorns’ is a personal favorite. I’ll scream it right when I come, I promise.”

“I had a boyfriend who used to yell ‘Morgana’s tiny tits!’ almost every time he came,” Kyle relayed with a laugh.

“ _No_ ,” Draco said, both aghast and amused.

“Yes,” Kyle said, undoing Draco’s belt. “I laughed at him more than once. He didn’t like that at all. But I couldn’t help it.”

“He sounds like a prat.”

“He was.” Kyle pulled down Draco’s trousers, removing them completely, along with his socks. “Not everyone is both attractive and kind at the same time, actually.” The underwear came off now, and Kyle simply stared down at him, wide-eyed. Draco folded his hands behind his head and let Kyle get a good look. “Holy shit,” the brunet said after a minute.

Long fingers caressed Draco’s thigh, and he bit his lip as he arched into the touch. The hand traveled upward, over his abdomen.

“What’s this from?” Kyle asked, stroking the large and jagged  _sectumsempra_ scar.

“The war,” Draco told him calmly. “A slicing curse. I was sixteen.”

“I can’t even imagine,” he murmured. 

“It was a long time ago,” Draco told him. The playfulness had dissipated somewhat, and he rather wanted it back. “Got myself into a duel with a sworn enemy. Not my finest hour.” He smirked at Kyle when the brunet met his eyes.

“Still, no one deserves something like that.” Kyle bent and kissed the scar. Draco felt inexplicably sad all of a sudden, and he swallowed against it.

“Oh yeah?” he asked shakily, but trying to inject some humor into it. “Then what do I deserve instead?” He arched again, bumping Kyle’s stomach with his insistent erection.

Kyle chuckled, clearly taking the hint. He mouthed his way down Draco’s abdomen, all the while caressing his thighs with both hands. “To have your cock thoroughly sucked, as a matter of fact.” He grinned, then licked a long stripe up the underside of Draco’s erection. Draco groaned his approval, especially as Kyle’s strong tongue circled the head a couple of times before his lips wrapped around it and sucked gently.

Draco’s cock twitched in anticipation. He had a feeling this was going to be good.

Kyle pulled off a moment to look at him, though his mouth lingered right there, his breath tickling Draco’s sensitive skin. “You can fuck my mouth some, if you want. I like that kind of treatment.”

Draco moaned and gave the top of Kyle’s head an encouraging stroke before nodding.

For all his awkwardness, for all his nervousness, Kyle seemed about to prove that there were arenas in which he had plenty of confidence.

Yeah, this was going to be good.


	16. Lesson 16: Confrontations in Public Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, there were some mixed feelings about that last chapter. A lot of you are liking Kyle, and many are you are mad at me for making Kyle so likable :) What can I say? The character just popped into my head, and I decided to run with it. 
> 
> Draco does still have some growing to do, but for those of you missing Harry, you're in luck. He makes an appearance this chapter. Enjoy! <3

Unsurprisingly, Draco received a floo call from Pansy the following day. She was savvy enough to wait until the afternoon to call him, in case Kyle had stayed over (which, of course, he had).

“Do you have time to talk?” she asked him, brusque and almost business-like. Draco wasn’t sure what this conversation was going to be like, with her in this kind of mood, but he agreed anyway. 

“I assume Kyle is gone and that you haven’t just rudely abandoned your guest to answer the floo,” she added.

“He left this morning, after breakfast,” Draco informed her, watching her closely to see how she would take that.

She arched a brow, and there was a hint of a smile gracing her lips. “It went well, then?”

“Very well,” Draco admitted. “Better than I hoped, even. We have a tentative lunch date this coming week, actually.”

“Well… good. I’m happy for you.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

Pansy sighed. “I genuinely am. Of course you know I don’t care that you’re bisexual and really I have no right to be upset that it’s taken you so long to tell me, but…”

“You’re upset with me anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Pansy said. “I honestly don’t. I feel… strange.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply waited for her to go on.

“We used to be the people who knew each other best,” she said. “But it’s clear to me that it’s not true anymore, on either end.”

“You’re married, Pansy,” Draco said to her. “You live with Theo and have a child together. Of course there are people now that know you better than I know you. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”

Pansy huffed, as though it was physically paining her to have to talk about this so openly. It likely was, as a matter of fact. “It doesn’t make you sad?”

Draco thought about it. “Honestly? No. Because it doesn’t feel like a loss to me. I would think, given how good your life is now, that it doesn’t feel that way to you either. You’ve only gained people, not lost them. You haven’t lost me.”

“Who is it for you, then? Who knows you best, better than I do?”

Draco shook his head, but not because he didn’t know the answer to the question.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Pansy said.

“Him?”

“Your mystery lover.”

Draco stared at her in surprise.

“Oh, come off it, Draco. Did you really think I wasn’t going to put the pieces together and realize the reason your mystery lover was a mystery all this time was because he was a man? He’s obviously the one who helped you figure out you were bisexual. Or at least help you come to terms with it. And I’m glad you had that. I just wish I knew why you aren’t still with him, since he obviously had an affect on you.”

“He helped me see who I am. He helped me move on. That was what I needed from him. But it was never going to be something long term. It wouldn’t have been sustainable.”

“Why not?”

Draco remained silent.

“You aren’t going to tell me who it is, are you, even though I’ve figured out it’s a man.”

“No, not right now.” 

She stared at him, and Draco felt an “I’m sorry” right on the tip of his tongue. But he didn’t say it.

“Not because I don’t trust you,” he said instead. “I’m just not ready to talk about it, is all.”

Pansy crossed her arms and looked away. Draco adjusted himself on the floor in front of the fireplace to get more comfortable, sensing that this conversation was going to take a while. He was just considering summoning a cushion from a nearby armchair when Pansy spoke again.

“So the mystery lover was always supposed to be temporary, which is why you ended it. But this… relationship – whatever it is – with Kyle… that’s different?”

He watched her for a bit, thinking about what he was going to say and hoping she would look at him again. She didn’t, though, only stared at her pristine fingernails with faux nonchalance. So Draco replied.

“I don’t know. I think so. I’ve only just met him. But there’s potential. More so than there ever was with – with the guy I was seeing before.”

“And what gives Kyle more of this… potential?”

Draco hesitated, wondering if there was any way to frame it that didn’t give Harry’s identity away.

“Commitment… was an issue.”

“On his part?”

“Yes.”

“I see. So you wanted something more serious. He didn’t.”

“I…” Draco paused again, knowing that he wasn’t really characterizing the situation accurately but that there was nothing he could do about it. “Yes. Essentially. Although I don’t really believe it would have worked out anyway, but… I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Hm,” replied Pansy. Draco couldn’t tell if she was skeptical or simply annoyed.

They were silent for a bit, Pansy seeming to consider what he had just told her and Draco wondering at what point Pansy was going to lose all patience with him and end the floo connection.

But she didn’t. Instead she huffed another breath and asked, “Well, are you going to tell me about last night, or do I have to use my imagination?”

Draco gave her a cautious, hopeful smile. “You’d actually want to hear about it?”

“Of  _course_ I want to hear about it. I want to know everything. Every last detail.”

Draco allowed himself a real grin. “Even the sex?”

Pansy delicately brushed a lock of dark hair from her forehead and tilted her head demurely. “Well, if you’re going to insist on it, I certainly won’t stop you.”

Draco eyed her. “There are certain things a gentleman never reveals. But I’ll tell you all that I can.”

“That’s all I ask,” Pansy said, adjusting in such a way that Draco could tell she was getting comfortable, ready to listen.

Draco shifted too, leaning forward towards the hearth and his friend, glad he had someone he could trust to share this with.

***

Draco saw Kyle again only a few days later. They had agreed to meet for lunch at a nice sandwich shop not far from the Ministry, so that Kyle could walk there from work. Draco beat him there and decided to get a table outside, ordering a light, crisp cider that he could sip on as he watched Muggles pass by.

When Kyle approached it took Draco a moment to recognize him. He had left his Ministry robes behind, of course, so as to blend in with the rest of Muggle London, but he was wearing a suit, a gray one with a suitably matching striped tie, and he looked quite dashing in it. The trousers were well-fitted and emphasized his long legs, and the jacket broadened his shoulders in an appealing way. Draco certainly didn’t mind the more laid back look he’d sported at Pansy’s party, though it did make him seem a bit out of place. But he was learning that he really liked the way a man looked in a well-tailored suit. Muggles knew how to dress, that was for certain.

“Hi,” Kyle greeted him with a shy smile.

“Hello,” Draco said, smiling back. “I hope it’s all right that we’re sitting outside. It’s such a lovely day.”

“This is perfect,” Kyle said sincerely, removing his jacket and draping over the back of his chair. He undid the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled the sleeves up a little, getting comfortable.

He was making to sit down when Draco said, “Are you going to greet me properly?”

“Hm?” Kyle looked at him, confused. Then he grinned sheepishly and leaned down to Draco for a kiss.

Draco tilted up to meet him, enjoying the freedom in being able to do this in public, in the middle of the day, just around the corner from the Ministry. Any witch or wizard could pass by and see them, and it didn’t matter.

What a wonderful thing that was, that freedom.

It had only been a few days, so he was still getting used to it, the idea of being out. But he hadn’t heard anything but support from his friends and he had heard nothing whatsoever from his parents, so he could only assume that they were still in the dark. He wondered if it would last, or if someone would let something slip. He didn’t think Greg or Millicent would betray him like that, but he also knew that in the pureblood gossip mill, juicy information had a way of getting around. A part of him was braced, with the arrival of the owl post every morning, for a bright red Howler from his father ready to berate him for the disgrace he was bringing on the family.

It hadn’t happened yet, but it might, and he was trying to be ready for that.

But mostly he was enjoying this. He grinned openly at Kyle as he sat down and got himself situated, and their server came soon after to take Kyle’s drink order.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” Kyle said, pointing at Draco’s cider. “It’s just been that kind of day.”

The server gave him a tilted eyebrow and a knowing smile, then went off to get his drink.

“A rough one, then?” Draco asked sympathetically, taking another sip of his drink.

Kyle shrugged. “Frustrating. I told you about the trouble I had with the higher-ups at my old company, their obsession with the bottom line.” Draco nodded. “Well, turns out government bureaucracy isn’t all that much better.”

Draco laughed. “No, I imagine it wouldn’t be.”

“It’s not about the money. Although, obviously I’m expected to stay within my budget. Which is fair. But there’s so much freaking red tape to get something approved, it’s insane.”

Draco’s brow furrowed. He thought he knew what Kyle meant, but… “Red tape?”

“Sorry. No-maj phrase. It means there are a lot of hoops to jump through. You know, a lot of paperwork and special documentation and affidavits and whatever.”

“Oh, right.”

“So yeah, felt like kind of an uphill battle today. Government moves so  _slow_. I wish I knew why that is and what to do about it.”

“I’m not sure our Ministry’s ever been all that efficient,” said Draco. “I suppose in the few years after the war, when Kingsley Shacklebolt was acting Minister. But after he stepped down and our world was essentially back to normal again, the Ministry went back to its usual, ineffective self.”

“Why didn’t Shacklebolt run for reelection?” Kyle asked. “I’ve heard him mentioned multiple times, and only good things about him, too.”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t really know the man well, though he was quite civil to my family during the trials. But from what I heard he felt his place was with the Aurors. They invited him to run the department, and it seems he thought he was better suited to that than the Minister job.”

“Politics isn’t for everyone,” said Kyle.

“No. And often those who want the job aren’t cut out for it.”

Kyle’s drink arrived and the two men ordered lunch, chatting more about politics and the inner workings of the Ministry while they sipped on their ciders.

“My father always had his fingers in many different political pies when I was growing up,” Draco was saying just as their sandwiches were served. “I used to admire his ambition, but as I got older I realized I just found it boring.”

Kyle nodded as he chewed. “My family was never very political at all. They're academic types, always wanting us to focus on our studies. Not much into networking or rubbing shoulders with important people. My dad would honestly be happy if he could live in his potions lab all the time.”

“Your dad’s a potions master as well. No wonder you’re sick of hearing about it.”

Kyle laughed. “Only because I can’t understand what he and Lindsey are talking about half the time.” He shrugged. “But they have a special bond, and that’s ok, I guess. I honestly think she went into potions mostly to please him. Not that she isn’t good at it, of course. But she’s also a complete social butterfly, as you’ve seen, and I’ve always thought she’d make a decent politician herself.”

“Mm. I’ve had the same thought about Pansy. But she seems content to only do part-time work and make her family the priority, which I can respect.”

Kyle nodded. “I’m not sure Lindsey will ever be that way. She talks about wanting kids someday but she loves to work. And when she’s not working she’s going out. It’s hard to imagine her choosing to stay at home with a toddler.”

“Well, she wouldn’t necessarily have to stay home to have a child. She could be a working mother. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Kyle chuckled. “Good point. Listen to me, being all heteronormative. Never thought I’d be getting a lecture about that from a British pureblood.”

Draco held up his hands. “Hey, you’re not hearing any lecture from me. I did the heterosexual marriage with traditional gender roles down to the letter in my last serious relationship. There was no thinking outside the box in that situation. But Lindsey does strike me as the kind of person who would have a hard time giving up her work for anything, and I also believe that anyone can find a way to fit children into their lives, if it’s what they really want. That’s all I meant.”

“Mm,” said Kyle, thinking that over. “I think that’s true.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “So you want kids then?” he asked, after a minute.

Draco looked at him, surprised, and Kyle’s eyes widened.

“Sorry, was that…?” the brunet said, looking horror-struck. “That was weird, wasn’t it? That’s a weird thing to ask someone on like, the second date. I swear I’m not like trying to find out if you want to make babies with me or something.”

Draco laughed for a bit before managing a “No, it’s fine.”

“I was honestly just curious, because you had been married before. I was just making conversation.”

“It’s fine, Kyle,” said Draco. “I don’t mind talking about it at all. And I don’t think it’s weird to ask someone that.”

Kyle gave him a sheepish smile and finished off the remainder of his cider in one gulp.

“I do want children,” Draco said. “Without question. In fact, I was nearly a father, once.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows in surprise, placing his glass carefully back down on the table. “With your wife? Ex-wife? You two were talking about it?”

“More than talking.”

“You were trying?”

Draco nodded.

“What happened?”

Draco stared down at his plate a moment, contemplating if he wanted to go down this road.

“That’s a story for another time, I think,” he said finally.

Kyle nodded once. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something that would upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Draco assured him. “It’s been over a year now, and I’ve moved on. So much so that I’m honestly just tired of telling the story. I’ve told it so much and I’m just… bored of it, I suppose. Bored of fixating on one bad thing that happened to me. I’d rather focus on something else. On the future, not the past.”

The brunet gave him a tentative smile. “That’s a good way of thinking about it.”

Draco met his eyes. “I think so too.” He took a last sip of cider. “So, what about you, then?”

“Me?”

“And children.”

“Oh, right.” He shrugged. “Yeah, sure, why not? Some day. I’m only twenty-four, so I’m not exactly in a hurry.”

“Sure.” 

“But yeah, some day. I think it’d be nice to have a kid. I like the idea of adopting especially. Giving a child a home who otherwise wouldn’t have one?”

“Mm,” said Draco noncommittally. He certainly admired those who chose to adopt, but deep down he knew he would most want to have a child of his own flesh and blood. But he held back from sharing that aloud.

Kyle shrugged again. “I don’t know. I figure I have a while to think about it.”

“Sure. Of course.”

They exchanged small smiles and conversation turned to other things as they finished their sandwiches. Kyle needed to get back to the Ministry, but he dawdled a little as Draco took care of the check.

“Thanks for lunch,” he said. “I’m really glad I got to see you again.”

“Can I walk you?” Draco asked.

Kyle smiled as though this was exactly what he had been hoping for. “I’d love that.”

They went hand-in-hand down the sidewalk, Draco asking Kyle about what the rest of his day was going to look like, the both of them ignoring any funny looks like might have been thrown their way.

They stopped in front of the secret employee entrance to the Ministry, and Kyle continued to hesitate, seeming reluctant to let go of Draco’s hand.

“Can I see you again soon?" Draco asked. "I’d like to take you out somewhere nice. Maybe this weekend?”

Kyle smiled, looking both pleased and embarrassed. “You don’t have to plan all the dates, you know. I could take  _you_ out.”

Draco smiled back. “That’s true.”

“So why don’t I plan something for us. Saturday night?”

“That sounds great.”

“Great.”

They kissed goodbye, much more thoroughly and passionately than the chaste little peck Kyle had given Draco in greeting. Draco walked away with a spring in his step, with the promise of an enjoyable Saturday evening and possibly much more beyond that.

And it felt good.

***

Draco loved the apothecary. He knew some found the smell – organic and rich, like wet earth and musty leather – a little too strong and the jars of animal parts and strange, dried plants disconcerting. But not Draco. He walked into an apothecary the way a bookworm walks into a library: eagerly, his heart thumping in anticipation and his neck straining to look in every direction at once. It smelled like opportunity, and the jars of beetle eyes and skink tails and shrivelfigs lining the shelves made him feel like the world was at his fingertips.

He looked down at the parchment in his hand, wondering where to begin. He always came to the apothecary with a list; otherwise he was in danger of buying a bit of everything. His stores were quite low on Asphodel, thanks to McNeal’s research, so he decided to begin in the “plant roots” section and go from there.

It wasn’t long before he was joined by the wizened and friendly shop owner, Elias Humperdink, with whom Draco was on a first name basis. He had a suspicion that he was likely one of Elias’ favorite customers, considering how much gold he spent there. When he explained to the wizard that he was shopping for both the Hogwarts pantry and his own personal stores, Elias was eager to help.

So much so that it took less time than Draco anticipated to gather everything he needed, and he found himself browsing rather wistfully in the rare ingredients aisle for a few minutes. He didn’t have any need for fine-woven Goldflax or dried Agama skin, but he fantasized for a moment that he did, that he was the kind of potioneer to brew the more complex draughts that would require such ingredients.

 _Maybe it’s time to return to my own research again_ , he thought idly. Now that he had one year of teaching under his belt, the lesson planning needn’t be so intense. He would likely have time and energy for other things.

He tore himself away, finally, promising himself that he would at least think about it. Elias was waiting at the front counter for him, the totals tallied and everything wrapped up and ready to owl directly to the manor and Hogwarts. Draco paid and thanked him for all his help, which garnered a toothless, grateful smile from the old wizard and many happy returns.

Draco stepped back out into Diagon Alley, wondering if there was anywhere else he wanted to go. He didn’t need to do other shopping, but a leisurely trip to Flourish & Blotts was always a welcome diversion. Or perhaps he could visit Fortescue’s for an ice cream, indulge a little. He wasn’t meeting up with Kyle until that evening, so he had an entire afternoon to spend as he wished.

He was just stepping into the street, thinking he’d head in the direction of the bookstore, when he heard a voice.

“Draco.”

He felt his insides seize up. He would have known the voice anywhere, even though it had said his name softly. Or maybe  _because_ it had said it so softly. He hadn’t heard it in over a year, but that didn’t matter. He turned.

Astoria stood there, next to the apothecary window, looking lovely in a set of blue summer robes. Her hair was longer than he remembered it, rippling down past her shoulders now in smooth waves. Her hands were resting on the handles of the baby carriage in front of her. It was a large one, dark blue with a bulbous round hood pulled down to shade its occupant. Draco found his eyes roaming downward, and he saw there was a small pair of legs and tiny shoed feet visible under the hood, swinging idly.

Her son. Blaise’s son. Octavian.

“Draco,” Astoria said again. “Hello.”

“Astoria,” he greeted her with a nod. Though it had felt like the world had stopped for a moment upon seeing her, he realized that wasn’t actually the case, and that the street was bustling around him. And he was in the way of those trying to pass by. He stepped back off of the cobblestones until he was under the awning of the apothecary and looked back at Astoria again, who was watching him closely.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.

“It’s been a while,” Draco replied. His eyes flitted again to those swinging toddler legs, and he swallowed. “What brings you out today?”

“Just some summer shopping. This little one is growing so fast, I feel like I’m doing an enlarging charm on his trousers just about every week to keep up.” She chuckled weakly. “It wears clothes out, you know, all that magic.”

“Mm,” said Draco. “Babies need a lot of clothes, as I understand it.”

Merlin, this was so strange. He couldn’t believe it was happening. For months after the divorce Draco had essentially avoided Diagon and other wizarding haunts, taking refuge in the manor, to prevent this very encounter. But now it was happening, and it had been so long, and so much had happened since…

He didn’t know what he felt. But he thought he’d like to get away and think about it, at least.

“Can I buy you a cup of tea?” she asked. “Or coffee, perhaps?”

“I’m sorry?”

She pushed against the carriage, bringing both herself and the still swinging legs of little Octavian closer. Draco fought the urge to take a step back. “It’s been a long time, and I thought it might be nice to talk.”

“I don’t know…” Draco said, looking instinctively left and right, trying to scope out a viable escape from this situation.

“I know it’s… awkward,” she said with a soft, embarrassed smile that Draco immediately recognized. “I saw you through the apothecary window and I almost ran for it.” The smile turned sheepish. “But I’ve been thinking about you lately. I even thought about writing, though I wasn’t sure if you would read it. But there are some things I wanted you to know. Things I think it’s important for you to know. I know it’s a lot to ask but could we… just talk, for a little while?”

She was looking at him with a helplessness he’d always found hard to resist. She was so soft, delicate, harmless. It was difficult to believe that she was capable of hurting him the way she had hurt him. 

He knew better, of course. But looking at her again, for the first time in so long, it was easy to forget.

What more could she do to hurt him now? She had already done the worst thing Draco could imagine, short of committing murder. He didn’t think there was anything she could say that would hurt him more, anything that would be worse than the things he said to himself for all those months afterward. 

“All right,” he said. “I have a little time.”

They went down the street to the closest café and found a discreet table in the back. There were no high chairs available, so Astoria transfigured one herself, then reached down into the baby carriage and plucked Octavian out of it. Draco watched, realizing he was getting his first proper look at the boy in over a year. While Astoria went to order their drinks, Draco took some time to study him. The toddler stared right back at Draco, chewing on a couple of his fingers.

He had a charming, round face, a cute button nose, and long eyelashes. His skin was the color of milk tea, and his head sported a thin layer of dark curls that looked soft and springy to the touch. Draco tilted his head, wondering if he could see Octavian’s parents reflected in those features. The shape of the eyes might have been Blaise’s, perhaps; the nose resembled Astoria’s. But he seemed to be made up of something mostly of his own.

“Ba-bo-doo,” said Octavian, as if he found the lingering silence awkward all of a sudden.

Draco chuckled. “Same to you, kid,” he said. Octavian smiled at that, wide and drooley, his sparse little teeth making an appearance. Draco felt his heart warming in spite of himself. 

He could let himself resent this boy, if he really wanted to. But it didn’t make any sense to. It wasn’t Octavian’s fault he was Blaise’s son instead of Draco’s. It was stupid, even cruel, to resent a child. He could save all of his resentment for his ex-wife and his ex-best friend.

Not that he felt much of that either, anymore. As Astoria sat down again, placing Draco’s coffee in front of him, he watched her, trying to figure out what seeing her made him feel, now that the initial shock was over. So far he didn’t have much of anything.

Astoria had purchased an herbal tea for herself and a package of biscuits for Octavian. She broke them up into little pieces and put them on the table in front of him, and Octavian, looking very excited, immediately took one and put it in his mouth.

“Mmm,” he said, bouncing up and down in his chair a moment.

“Mmm,” Astoria imitated with a warm smile. She brushed a hand across his head as he continued to eat.

“He’s big,” Draco said, immediately feeling stupid.

But Astoria merely smiled at him and nodded. “It’s hard to believe. He was so small when he came out, remember?”

Draco’s hand tightened on his coffee mug, helping him resist a wince at such a casual mention of the fateful early morning of Octavian’s birth. The day everything changed. “I remember,” he murmured.

Astoria seemed to realize the insensitivity of that last remark, because she ducked her head. “How are you, Draco?” she asked finally.

“I’m quite well, actually,” he told her, glad he could be honest. “I’m sure you heard I took a post at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, I did hear that.”

“So I was there most of the year. I have the summer off. I’ve just been spending time with friends, mostly, though there is some summer work I have to do as well.”

“You enjoy teaching?”

“I love it.”

“Good. I’m happy for you.”

“And how are you? How’s Blaise?”

Astoria sighed. “Blaise is very busy. In truth, we both are, me with Octavian and him with the business. He’s frustrated, I think.”

“Blaise is.”

She nodded. “He wants to be home. He’s being asked to travel a lot, you see.”

“I heard.” She gave him a surprised look. “Just the usual Slytherin gossip.”

“Ah,” she said. “Yes. It just surprises me. I’ve been a bit out of the loop lately.”

Draco nodded. That was a more diplomatic way of saying “shunned by most of our mutual acquaintances.” “Your sister has been talking,” he explained.

“Right,” she said. “Of course.”

They fell into silence, and Draco sipped his coffee, occasionally glancing at Octavian, who was munching away happily and not paying them any mind.

“There’s something I wanted you to know. Something I wanted to tell you, to explain to you, even before I left. But I never got the chance.”

Draco sat up a little straighter. He wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but at this point he found himself more curious than anything. “All right.”

“When you and I got married, I was already involved with Blaise. I was already in love with him, in fact.”

Draco stared into his coffee and thought that over. He’d wondered when it started. He’d thought it had to be early, since in his confrontations with both Astoria and Blaise after Octavian’s birth it had been implied that the relationship had been going on for quite some time, essentially since the beginning. But they’d never said when explicitly. Draco had tried, during those sleepless nights of torturing himself with the details, to put the pieces together, tried to pinpoint when it could have started, based on the way Blaise would behave with Astoria and the frequency of his visits. He’d come to the conclusion that Blaise had had his eyes on Astoria from the beginning, though he thought maybe Astoria had resisted the advances at first.

Apparently he’d been only half right.

“Then why did you agree to marry me?” he asked. “Why not just marry Blaise?”

“My father wouldn’t have it,” she said. “I was only seventeen when Daphne ran off with Luc. Blaise and I were already seeing each other by that point, but it was early, and we weren’t ready to talk about marriage yet, which is why we kept it a secret. My father told me that the best way to repair the contract with your parents was for you to marry me instead. But he wanted to wait until I was a little bit older. He thought seventeen was too young, and he was right, in that regard. I hoped when I told him about Blaise he would change his mind, but it only made him angry. He told me to end it with Blaise, saying that I had to wait in case you were still single in a couple of years. Then he would reopen negotiations with the Malfoys.”

“But you didn’t heed him.”

“Would you have?” she asked, leaning forward. “I couldn’t stay away from Blaise. We were falling in love. It was inevitable. I held onto hope that you would find a love match and get married.”

“I nearly did,” he told her. “Emerence Selwyn, don’t you remember?”

She sighed. “That’s right. But you didn’t marry her. And when I turned nineteen Father decided I was old enough, and he contacted your father and…”

“We started courting.”

“Yes.”

“I was considering marrying her, you know.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked.”

She tucked a lock of golden hair behind a dainty ear. “It’s not exactly the sort of thing you ask your betrothed while he’s courting you.”

“I think, under the circumstances, it would have been appropriate, even called for. A lot of things would have been called for.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco leaned forward too, meeting her halfway over the table and keeping his voice low. “You should have told me. About you and Blaise.”

She gasped, leaning back again. “I couldn’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because you would have informed your parents, who would have informed my parents, and then they would have found out that I’d been disobeying them by continuing my relationship with Blaise.”

He stared at her. “Would that have been so horrible?”

She swallowed. “You know what my father is like when he’s angry. Blaise and I would both have had to suffer his wrath, and he would have forbidden me from seeing him ever again. He would have done everything he could to keep us apart.”

Draco considered that. “Even so,” he said. “It would have been worth it to avoid binding yourself to someone you didn’t love. You and Blaise could have found a way. I could have helped you, if you’d told me the circumstances. Did Blaise not believe me trustworthy?”

Stared at her hands. “We didn’t discuss it.”

Draco sat back in his chair, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have let you go through with it. If I knew Blaise, my  _best friend_ , loved you, and you him, I would have refused to marry you. I would even have avoided telling our parents  _why_ , taken all of the blame, to protect you. Then you would have been free. If you’d only trusted me.” She stared at him, dumbfounded. “Instead, you lied, you let me marry you even though you were in love with someone else, and then you continued to have an affair even after we were married.” She continued to watch him, a sad pout now forming on her lips. But Draco was unaffected. “Was sharing this little piece of information intended to make me feel better about everything that happened? Or was it some way to justify what you’ve done? I hope you know that it's neither. It’s only served to make me angry about it all over again.”

Her eyes dropped to her teacup, and they sat for a long time. Draco watched her, waiting, finishing off most of his coffee. It went a bit cold, and he cast a warming charm on it.

“I intended to stay away from him after you and I were married,” she said finally, quietly. “Romantically, anyway. I thought… well… I thought it would be all right. During the courting, you were so patient and kind. And you were even better after the wedding. Sweet and funny and handsome… I thought ‘This could be so much worse. At least Blaise is his best friend, so I won’t lose him from my life completely.’ I thought I could live with that. I thought I could grow to love you and move on. And I  _did_ grow to love you. I hope you know that.” She put a hand on his, and Draco felt himself flinch. But she didn’t move it. “I fell in love with you. I loved being your wife. I really hope you will believe me when I say that.”

Draco stared down at her hand on his. “I don’t know what to think. You say you loved me, but you didn’t stay away from him, in the end.”

“No,” she said sadly. “I fell in love with you, but I never stopped loving him. And then I was really stuck.”

“I suppose Blaise wasn’t too happy about that, about your feelings for me.” Then again, Blaise was the one who let the woman he loved marry someone else. Draco wasn’t sure he would ever be able to entirely understand Blaise’s thought process or his feelings. He’d been Draco’s best man at the wedding, after all. How could he have lived with that, watching Astoria walk down the aisle, looking stunning in her ivory wedding robes, towards someone other than himself? How did Blaise stand listening to her make vows to love and cherish another man? How could he have borne it?

“No,” she said again. “But he wasn’t surprised. He said you were the better man, and that I deserved you. And if you loved me, I deserved to be happy. And he would take what he could get from me. He told me he could live with it. I tried to tell him he deserved happiness too. Even though it would have been painful, a part of me hoped he would move on. But he never did. So long as I wanted him, he was there. And so long as he was there, I couldn’t stop wanting him.” Her eyes were glistening now, and Draco wanted to roll his eyes.

“What about what I deserved?” he said. She looked at him, blue eyes shimmering. “Didn’t I deserve some honesty? From my friend? From my  _wife_? You’re talking about this like you didn’t have a choice, but you did. You’re talking like the fact that you did love me after all somehow makes it better. But it doesn’t, not to me. You still lied, Astoria. You had so many chances to tell the truth but you just kept lying, and sneaking around and…” He glanced at Octavian again, who was busy looking around the café at the other patrons, entertaining himself while the adults talked. “… and conceiving a  _child_ with him, Astoria. You betrayed me in every way.”

She was crying properly now, though quite silently. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation, here, in public, with Astoria and Blaise’s lovechild sitting right there. If he had known…

He took a deep breath. Maybe this was better, though. Maybe they should be doing this. Maybe this was his one final purge of her, a chance to say it all  _to_ her and let it go once and for all.

“I hated you and Blaise for so long after… after it all came out,” he told her, ignoring her tears. “But I hated myself even more, I think. I thought myself a fool for believing that you loved me. I thought I had done something wrong, something to make you secretly hate me and fall into Blaise’s arms out of loneliness, or some such nonsense.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she said quietly, thickly.

“I know. I figured that out for myself. I figured out that I didn’t do anything wrong, and that I wasn’t a fool for believing you loved me. Because you acted like you did. You told me you did.”

“Because I  _did_ ,” she insisted. “I still  _do_.” She tried to put her hand on his again, but he pulled away. “I miss you so much, Draco.”

“No,” he told her. “Let’s not even go there. That door is closed forever.”

Astoria’s face crumpled, though she did her best to remain silent, only letting out a couple of high pitched squeaks. It might have all remained discreet if Octavian hadn’t seen the state of his mother and started crying, almost like a sympathetic response.

“Oh no,” Astoria said, wiping her eyes quickly and reaching for her son. “I’m sorry, darling, I’m sorry.” She pulled him into her lap. “Mummy’s fine, love. Just fine. Shhh…” She rubbed circles on his back to calm him, and it seemed to be working on her too. Her breath became more even and her tears waned as she softly comforted her son.

Draco was aware that a few people were staring, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t particularly want to be here anymore, but he also didn’t feel like he could just leave. So he waited. Octavian settled, finally, nuzzling into his mother’s neck and slipping into a doze. The strange trio sat there for a while like that, the only sounds heard being the slow, syncopated rhythm of each of their breaths.

“You’re right,” Astoria said, her cheek resting on the top of her son’s curly head. It was almost as though she was talking to him, and not Draco. “Everything I said here is true. But you’re right.”

“I know,” Draco replied, which was perhaps in poor taste. Maybe he should be more gracious. But he didn’t feel like it.

“So many mistakes made,” she sighed. “So many consequences. Some good, some bad. I hate that I hurt you. I’m so sorry that I hurt you, but how can I say I wish it were different?”

Draco furrowed his brow, trying to understand what she meant. And then he realized that she was talking about Octavian. For all the regret she might have about being unfaithful and hurting Draco, she couldn’t actually be sorry, not when her actions had lead to her son being born. It was obvious, just from the way she clutched him to her, that she would never give him up for the world, for anything. She would do it all over again, every single mistake, every single painful thing, to have him.

Maybe Astoria wasn’t entirely happy in her marriage, and maybe she didn’t get along with her mother-in-law at all. And maybe raising a child was difficult sometimes, and she didn’t want to do it alone. But she would, if that’s what it took. She would do anything.

Draco could fault her for all of her lies and mistakes, and he could even fault her for trying to make excuses. But he couldn’t fault her for loving her son. He couldn’t fault her for that at all.

“I forgive you,” he said. “I forgive you for all that you’ve done. I don’t want you in my life, but I do wish you well. Please know that.”

She looked at him sadly, but there was resignation in her face now, rather than desperation. Draco felt himself relax.

“I’m going now,” he said, making sure to keep his voice low and gentle. “Please don’t contact me again.”

She swallowed, then nodded. “I won’t.”

Draco sat there a moment longer, words on the tip of his tongue that he didn’t know why he felt so compelled to share. But he realized if he didn’t say it now, it was likely he would never say it at all. And that seemed wrong, somehow.

“Stand up to Marianna,” he blurted. “When you think you’re right, stand up to her. It’s the only way she’ll ever respect you. And tell Blaise to find himself a bloody job that doesn’t require so much travel. He’s missing his son’s childhood, and no amount of money is worth that. Tell him to get his priorities in order. Tell him that from me.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He simply stood and turned, leaving his ex-wife and her small son behind once and for all.

He was done. He could be done now.

***

Draco didn’t tell Kyle about his run-in with Astoria. He thought about it. He considered it that very evening as they were cozying up at Kyle’s for a night in with takeaway and a Muggle film. But the film was engaging and they had plenty to talk about afterwards, plus some heavy snogging to do on Kyle’s worn sofa at the end of the night, and it just never seemed like the right time.

The notion popped into his head a few days later when they met out for lunch again, but Kyle was still stressed about this project he was trying to push through with the approval board and they spent a lot of time talking about that. It would feel strange, Draco decided, to suddenly turn the conversation towards him in that moment, and so he kept quiet.

The perfect opportunity came that next weekend when they were engaged in pillow talk. They were naked and relaxed, rehashing old relationships and what they learned from them. And yet Draco still kept it vague when it came to Astoria, focusing more on his time at Hogwarts and the dating he’d done before his marriage.

He wasn’t sure why he was so resistant, but he thought it was mostly to do with the fact that it was simply nice to be with someone who knew nothing of his past except what Draco saw fit to tell him. He wasn’t dishonest about his life, but he did find he could remake himself with Kyle, exist as the person he was now rather than the person he had been at any previous stage of his life, and that was liberating.

He knew, in the back of his mind, that there was a down side to this approach. If this continued, if he and Kyle began to develop much deeper feelings for each other, Kyle was eventually going to have to hear some unpleasant tales. How would he truly know Draco otherwise? Draco wasn’t particularly looking forward to telling some of them. Would Kyle see him differently, after all was said and done? Draco’s past didn’t exactly paint him in the most flattering light.

But he didn’t dwell on it. Instead he chose to have faith that he would be accepted for his problematic history as it began to surface. Kyle, after all, was far from perfect. His regular self-deprecation, Draco was learning, was merely a glimpse into what were some pretty deep-seated insecurities, mostly about relationships. He needed a lot of validation, and would make off-hand comments regularly about how Draco was out of his league or other such nonsense. Draco recognized them immediately as the sort of “joke that wasn’t really a joke,” and he did his best to squash them. But he did grow a bit weary of it sometimes.

He was also a natural complainer. When talking about his work especially Kyle had a tendency to bad-mouth the other people in his department and vent his frustrations about what they were doing wrong. Draco couldn’t always blame him; some of the things Kyle described to him sounded incredibly frustrating. But Kyle never seemed much interested in solving the problems he encountered. Whenever Draco suggested a solution Kyle usually came up with some reason why it wouldn’t work, why it was futile to even try. It made Draco want to throw up his hands and question why Kyle was even bringing it up in the first place if he didn’t want to  _do_ anything about it. Instead he decided to let it go, knowing that Kyle probably just wanted to vent and air his grievances to a friendly ear.

Draco chose not to be daunted by these flaws, though. He knew it would be hypocritical to put too much stock in them, considering they were flaws he also recognized in himself. He was far from perfect, he knew, and it was only a matter of time before Kyle discovered just how imperfect Draco was.

And there was so much to like about Kyle. He was endlessly funny, with his trademark Word Vomit Syndrome sometimes leaving Draco in stitches. He was honest and kind, always listening closely to Draco and thinking deeply about what he said. He was intelligent in an understated way, and never felt a need to show it off, something Draco admired greatly.

And he was absolutely mad for Draco. Absolutely, unabashedly smitten. And Draco liked that quite a bit.

So the summer continued on, and Draco and Kyle continued on with it. They spent time together a few times a week, and agreed that they didn’t want to see other people, and were generally content to see where this would go.

Meanwhile, Draco was spending his free time with other friends, especially Pansy, and with work preparing for the coming school year. He still wrote his mother once a week, and she wrote him back consistently. Nothing in her letters indicated any knowledge of his coming out, and Draco assumed then that the Slytherins had kept their word. The gossip mill was not passing on this particular story, so it seemed. Draco had to admit himself relieved, even though he knew he was avoiding the inevitable. It was nice, though, to have a reprieve, to enjoy the bubble he was in with Kyle, at least for a little while.

He was also corresponding regularly with his students, and many of them were excited at the prospect of meeting Lindsey and talking to her about work in a potions lab. Once Draco had gauged interest he scheduled a gathering at the manor in mid-July. Over a dozen students indicated they would come, including McNeal, unquestionably the youngest of the bunch. Still, Draco was hardly surprised at her acceptance of the invitation.

The gathering was an unmitigated success, with his students simultaneously thrilled to meet such an expert in her field and to see the inner sanctum of Malfoy Manor. Draco made sure to keep Lindsey the center of attention, though he noticed the students throwing him surreptitious, curious glances at him every now and then. He suspected they were wondering if he and Lindsey were romantically involved. None of them were brave enough to ask outright, not even McNeal, and that suited him just fine. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be out at Hogwarts; he knew the staff and students both would accept him. But he was taking this one step at a time, and he’d already taken a major step these past few weeks. That was enough calculated risk-taking for the time being.

He showed his gratitude to Lindsey by inviting her to stay for dinner, and she accepted. He was glad to discover that there were no hard feelings about the fact that Draco was now seeing Kyle. Lindsey seemed genuinely happy for them, and genuinely happy to continue a friendship with him. And Draco, for his part, was happy to have someone to go on about Potions with, since Kyle continued to have little patience for the topic.

It didn’t take long for Draco’s run-in with Astoria to become just another event of the past, something he didn’t give much thought to. He was content to put all things regarding his ex-wife behind him, and keep looking ahead.

***

“What do you want to do tonight?”

Draco opened his eyes and blinked at Kyle. He’d been halfway to falling asleep in the heat of the summer afternoon and the warm weight of Kyle’s legs draped across his lap. Kyle was staring at him lazily, a half-smile on his face.

“I don’t rightly know,” Draco replied.

“Do you feel like going out? We could do something low-key, see a movie or something.”

Draco made a disinterested noise. “Being at the cinema just means we don’t get to talk.”

“True,” said Kyle. “You do like to talk during movies.”

Draco smacked him playfully on his shin. “That’s not what I meant.”

Kyle grinned. “I know.”

“I’d rather stay in, I think,” said Draco. “Does that make me boring?”

“Not at all,” said Kyle. “But I’m pretty tired of the takeout nearby. I’ve done it way too much recently. I want to find a new place.”

“Or we could make dinner,” Draco suggested, glancing behind him into Kyle’s small kitchen. It wasn’t often used. Draco had only ever watched Kyle make breakfast in the morning, and that was usually the basic bacon, egg, and toast.

“Can you cook?” Kyle asked, sounding surprised.

“No, not really,” Draco admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Me neither,” said Kyle, mirroring his expression.

“I know how to make spaghetti Bolognese. That’s about it. I suppose we could just go to the manor and have the elves cook for us.”

“No, spaghetti would be good,” said Kyle. “That’s easy, right? Just boil some pasta, heat the sauce on the stove. We could go to the grocery and pick that up, easy.”

“Well, I know how to make Bolognese from scratch. With tomatoes and onions and everything.”

“Really.” Kyle sounded genuinely excited. “Let’s do that. That sounds good.”

“It will be an adventure,” Draco warned him. “I won’t pretend to be a culinary expert.”

“I’m ok with that.”

“We could pick up a bottle of wine, too. Something Italian. Actually a friend of mine, the one I was telling you about who I work with at Hogwarts, her parents have a vineyard in Tuscany and they make great wine. I’d love to be able to find us a bottle of that for you to try.”

“Cool,” said Kyle. “Do you think my local place would carry it?”

“No Muggle places, probably,” Draco admitted. He thought a moment. “Our best bet is Diagon. They have that large shop with elven and wizard wine. We’re better off there, though it means a proper trip out.”

“That works, actually,” Kyle said. “Because I’ve been meaning to pick up a nice bottle of elven champagne for my coworker’s housewarming thing next week, and I keep putting it off. Besides,” he nudged Draco in the ribs with one of his feet, “it’ll be good for us. Get us out of the house.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “All right.”

They did the grocery run first, Kyle following Draco around the Tesco while he tried to remember how many tomatoes he and Harry had used for the sauce they’d made all those months ago over the Christmas hols. He realized he hadn’t been paying all that much attention at the time, too engrossed in Harry and the music and the delicious wine.

In the spice aisle Draco told Kyle to grab anything that seemed Italian, making the brunet laugh.

“I assume oregano’s on the list?”

“Certainly. I’m pretty sure rosemary was involved as well.”

Kyle grabbed that, plus another jar lingering close by. “Thyme?”

“Yeah. Why not.”

“It’s good we’re doing this,” Kyle remarked, looking into their shopping basket. “I’ve always wanted to be one of those people with a cabinet full of spices.”

“Give off the impression you’re the kind of person who cooks for himself?” Draco ventured.

Kyle grinned. “Exactly.”

They were halfway to the front of the store when Draco realized that for it to be Bolognese it should probably have meat in it, and he dragged Kyle in search of some.

“And I’m thinking we’ll also need spaghetti?” Kyle added, still smiling.

Draco rolled his eyes at himself. Yes, spaghetti was rather a key ingredient, wasn’t it?

“We’re winging this a bit,” he admitted once they were finally in line to check out. “I hope that’s all right.”

“Like you said, it’s an adventure, right?” Kyle replied, looking perfectly content. Draco agreed with a nod.

After a quick stop back at Kyle’s to put the groceries away, they Apparated to Diagon Alley and found the wine shop they were looking for.

Draco had forgotten how large it was. There was aisle after aisle of every wine imaginable, every varietal, every region of the world. And that wasn’t including the beer, cider, and liquor selection. Draco felt a bit overwhelmed.

“Divide and conquer, I guess?” Kyle suggested. “I’ll get the champagne I need, and you look for that wine your friend makes.”

“Yeah sure,” said Draco. “No guarantees, though.”

“Well, if you can’t find it, just pick something that looks good.”

Draco nodded, and Kyle leaned down to give him a kiss. “See you in a few.”

Draco took another minute to look around and finally found his way to the Italian aisle, overcome again by the selection. He stopped at the Chianti section, eyes peeled for that familiar label. It wasn’t jumping out at him.

He continued to scan the shelves thoughtfully, bending to run a hand along some of the bottles. He really knew nothing about how to judge quality of this type of wine, he realized, except for going by price. He wished he could spot Francesca’s family’s label among them, but even upon closer examination it didn’t appear-

“They don’t carry it here, unfortunately.”

He froze.  _Not again_ , he thought immediately.  _This can’t be happening again._

That voice. Unlike the reaction Draco’d had to hearing Astoria, though, this made his blood sizzle. He felt a violent shiver overtake him, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“That’s a shame,” Draco said, straightening up, trying to keep his voice level. His eyes met emerald green ones, liberated from the barrier of spectacles. Harry was wearing his contacts today, apparently.

“Hi, Draco,” Harry said. His tone was neutral, maybe even a little flat, but it did things to Draco anyway. His heart was going double-time, and he took a deep breath.

“Hi, Harry.”

Harry looked good. He looked  _really_ good. His skin was glowing bronze and his hair seemed to have lightened too, and had subtle flecks of red in it. Resting atop that artfully mussed hair sat a pair of Ray-ban sunglasses, adding further to the impression that he was summertime incarnate. He wore a teal polo shirt that showed off his lean, strong arms and tight blue trousers that left nothing to the imagination.

Not that Draco needed his imagination. He’d seen it all. Which only made it worse, really.

“I tried to get them to carry Francesca’s wine here,” Harry said, as if Draco hadn’t just given him a long and obvious sweep with his eyes. “But it’s a small vineyard, you know, so they produce a limited amount.”

Draco nodded, still reeling but trying to recover. “Right. That makes sense. I suppose I’ll have to make do with one of these. Any suggestions?”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Just dinner. We’re having Italian, so I thought this was our best option.” He held back from saying that they were cooking spaghetti specifically. He somehow felt that Harry wouldn’t like the idea of him cooking that dish with someone else, though it sounded ridiculous and he couldn’t explain why.

“We? Who’s we?”

His stomach somersaulted. “Oh. Just me and my, um… boyfriend. Kyle.”

He thought he saw Harry’s eyes narrow for a moment, but perhaps he had imagined it.

“Boyfriend. The bloke that was with you earlier, who kissed you.”

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. So Harry had seen that. Harry had known he was here, and waited until he was alone to talk to him. Draco didn’t know what that meant.

“That’s the one.”

“It’s serious, then?”

Again, Draco was surprised. “It’s new,” he said. “Very new. But monogamous.” He tried to keep any accusation or self-righteousness out of his tone, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“I see. How did you meet him?”

“It’s a funny story, actually,” Draco said, aware that he was about to start babbling but somehow unable to stop it. “Pansy was trying to set me up with his sister, but I ended up hitting it off with him more, and one thing led to another and…” He trailed off, mostly because Harry didn’t seem to find the story all that funny, and Draco supposed it wasn’t, really.

“Interesting. He’s… worth the hassle then, I suppose.”

“Sorry?” Draco couldn’t make out Harry’s tone, because it was unlike anything he’d heard before from the man. It was almost… careful. Or maybe “controlled” was a better description.

“The hassle of coming out. You said… back in October, when we first…” Harry rolled his shoulders, and Draco immediately knew that Harry was somehow upset, or perhaps annoyed. “You said you didn’t know if it would be worth the hassle. Obviously you changed your mind. Obviously this… Kyle is worth the hassle.”

Draco watched him carefully. “Yes…” he said slowly. “I suppose he is. I like him quite a bit.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, are you… are you  _angry_ with me?”

“No,” Harry said, his jaw clenching. “No. It’s just good information to have. It’s nice to know these things, what’s worth it to you. Or  _who_ , I suppose I should say. It’s nice to know where I stand in all of this.”

“Where you stand.”

“That’s right.”

Draco stared at him, taking in the hard green eyes, the arms crossed over his chest. “You  _are_ angry,” he accused. “You’re angry that I wouldn’t come out while I was… while you and I were involved.”

“I said I wasn’t-“

“But you are. Which isn’t really fair, considering it was a completely different situation.”

“In what way?”

Draco looked around the store, hoping their slightly raised voices weren’t causing a scene. He leaned towards Harry, lowering his voice. “In the way that we talked about it being an arrangement where we weren’t exclusive and it wasn’t going to last and eventually we’d go back to just being friends. Kyle and I are  _dating_. He’s my actual boyfriend who doesn’t see other people and who-“

“ _I_ wasn’t seeing other people,” Harry said, cutting him off but also doing his best to keep his voice down. “I told you that. I told you that in  _December_. I didn’t date anyone else after that, for four months.”

“Out of circumstance,” Draco shot back. “Because you didn’t have time for anyone else.”

“That’s not why.”

“Well, it’s what you told me. You said it was because you were too busy with school and...” Draco’s heart was suddenly going hard and heavy, trying to sort this out, why they were having this argument, why Harry seemed…  _jealous_. There was something… something was happening here, and he wasn’t sure he was entirely ready for it. And yet he pressed on. “Why would you tell me that if it wasn’t true?”

Harry bowed his head. “Sweet Merlin, Draco.”

“I just don’t understand what you expected. Did you expect me to come out before I was ready, before I fully understood my own sexuality and what I wanted from it? Did you expect me to come out and then be your lover on the side all summer, get my name in the papers as just another boy toy of the Savior? Sorry, wasn’t really interested in that.”

Harry’s entire face tightened. “Of course not. Who ever said it would be like that?”

“It’s the logical course of events, is it not? Given your proclivities?”

Harry stepped closer to him. “ _Don’t_ pretend to be a judgmental arse, Draco. It doesn’t suit you. That’s not who you are anymore, and we both know it.”

Draco turned away a moment, ashamed he had said that. “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t pass any judgment that you have multiple lovers. Or I don’t want to, anyway. But it’s not for me. I tried it, and it’s not for me. I don’t think it’s fair for you to fault me for that either.”

“I don’t,” Harry replied softly.

Draco looked at him again. “I didn’t want to be one of many. So I made a choice. I’m sorry if I… if I hurt you.”

Harry’s eyes turned sad. “You  _weren’t_ one of many. That was the point.”

“But how long would it have lasted?” Draco countered. “You had others, just… just  _waiting_ for you. You went back to them after we ended. I mean, immediately after.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Francesca told me you were leaving the grounds at least once a week.”

Harry snorted. “I was.”

“So…”

“So… I wasn’t out… shagging other people, if that’s what you were assuming.” He rolled his eyes at Draco’s furrowed brow. “I was visiting Ron and Hermione. She was about to have the baby, and I wanted to be away from Hogwarts a bit, to clear my head. And then she gave birth and I decided to just keep visiting, to help out, to spend time with them, and with Rose. My new goddaughter.”

Draco stared at him, trying to process that. “Oh.”

Harry came closer still, his voice so soft Draco had to lean forward to hear. “I haven’t been with anyone else since… since us. I haven’t been with  _anyone_. I can’t bring myself to.”

“Why not?” Draco breathed, unable to take his eyes off Harry and the starkly vulnerable look on his face.

“What would be the point?” Harry asked, and his eyes were suddenly so… so  _tender_ that it made Draco dizzy. “None of them are you. None of them even come close. So… what would be the point?”

Draco swallowed with difficulty, his mouth suddenly dry. He wanted… he didn’t even know what he wanted, except that he needed Harry to keep talking. He needed to  _know_ , once and for all.

“What are you saying?” he asked. “That you-“

“Draco?”

Both men jumped apart automatically at the sound of Kyle’s voice. The man appeared a moment later, smiling when he caught sight of them. 

“There you are. Sorry, took forever to figure out what I should get.” He came closer, a bottle clutched in his hand, but stopped abruptly when he saw whom Draco was with. “Holy shit. You’re Harry Potter.”

Draco closed his eyes. This was not what he needed right now.

“Yes,” Harry replied simply.

“I’m Kyle Bergeron,” the Canadian went on, extending a hand towards Harry. “It’s a real honor to meet you.”

Harry took Kyle’s hand and shook it, but otherwise didn’t reply. 

“Buying wine too, I guess,” Kyle said after a beat of silence, seemingly oblivious to the tension between the other two wizards.

“Just browsing.” The smile Harry gave Kyle was so bland it may as well have been non-existent.

“Sure, sure.” Kyle looked at Draco. “Did you find it?”

“What?” Draco said, tearing his eyes from Harry.

“Your friend’s wine. Did you find it?”

“Oh. No, they don’t have it.”

“That’s too bad. I was hoping to try it.”

“It’s a rare vintage,” Harry offered flatly. “Hard to come by.”

“Apparently.” Kyle grinned at both of them. “Well, what should we do?”

“What are you making?” Harry asked him.

Draco closed his eyes again in dread.

“Spaghetti Bolognese,” Kyle said.

“Hm,” said Harry. “You don’t say.”

Draco made the mistake of meeting Harry’s eyes then, and he knew he wasn’t imagining the look of betrayal in them.

“It’s the only thing I know how to make,” Draco found himself murmuring apologetically. Harry’s eyes were still locked with his, his face inscrutable.

“Neither of us are exactly culinary aficionados,” Kyle added cheerfully.

Harry stared at Draco a second more before turning to the bottles in front of them. After some consideration he plucked one off the shelf and offered it to Kyle.

“Can’t go wrong with this one,” he said. “Reliably good, and a decent price.”

“Hey, thanks,” Kyle said, taking the bottle and showing it to Draco. “What do you think?”

“Yeah. Great,” said Draco, not even really seeing the label through the haze of the things Harry had just said to him.

“Well, I should be off,” said Harry, pulling the sunglasses off his head and putting them on. Which, despite the fact that it shielded his gorgeous eyes, only served to make him look even hotter. “It was nice to meet you,” he said, nodding at Kyle. He turned to Draco. “See you at school. Have a good summer.”

“You too,” Kyle replied.

Draco meant to echo the sentiment, but he found his throat was too tight to speak. He simply watched Harry walk away and out the door, wishing he could go after him. He had so much more he needed to know. And more he needed to say.

“I didn’t realize you were friends with Harry Potter.”

“Hm?” Draco shook himself and turned to Kyle. “Oh, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve known each other since we were boys. And we teach at Hogwarts together now.”

“Right, of course,” said Kyle. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

Draco shrugged. 

“He’s gay, you know.”

Draco snorted. “Yes, I’m aware.”

“I’ve heard he’s a little…” Kyle leaned in conspiratorially. “You know. A little slutty. Is that true?”

Draco managed his reaction as best he could. He hated that word, especially when used in regards to Harry. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. What business was it of Kyle’s anyway?

“Oh. You two don’t talk about that stuff?”

Draco shook his head. “I think we have everything. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” said Kyle, nodding emphatically. “Yeah, sure.”

“Great.” He took the bottle from Kyle, finally managing a small smile. “My treat.”

Kyle smiled back, and Draco turned away, wondering what the hell just happened.


	17. Lesson 17: Worthwhile Risks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here it is, the highly anticipated chapter that I have no idea how you all will react to. I'm expecting some mixed feelings about it, but I'm ok with that. Many of you are just ready for Draco and Harry to get their shit together once and for all, while others have become rather attached to Kyle, or might even be angry at either Draco or Harry for this whole situation. You'll feel what you feel. But I do still hope you'll let yourself enjoy the end of the chapter, as I think it's been a long time coming. And bear in mind that it doesn't mean the end of the story, and there are many good things to come as well as the resolutions to some side plots that haven't been addressed yet.
> 
> On an unrelated note, apparently my other Drarry fic, Say My Name, has been nominated for the 2018 Drarry Awards in the Best Drarry Fic category! Crazy. I have no idea who nominated my story, but if you did, thank you!! I'm excited to see what happens. Voting is open now and will be until Feb 24, so please go vote for your favorites! There are multiple categories and a lot of good fics on there. And if you happen to feel that Say My Name deserves a win, I would love to have your vote. It would mean a whole lot to me <3

As planned, Draco and Kyle returned to Kyle’s flat and cooked spaghetti for dinner. It turned out decently – Kyle seemed particularly proud of what they had accomplished – but Draco couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. No matter how many times he tasted the sauce, though, he couldn’t figure out what it was.

That night, Kyle asked Draco to finally fuck him for the first time. Draco told him he wasn’t ready and ate the brunet out instead, and it felt strangely like an apology.

It was two days later, and they had a dinner date scheduled for that night. It was casual – Kyle always preferred casual – just a good Turkish place Kyle had discovered recently and was excited about. Draco had no real need to impress beyond his usual attire. And yet he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into his open wardrobe, unable to move. He couldn’t seem to find the will to start getting ready for his date. It wasn’t difficult to understand why.

Draco couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. He thought about him all the time. He replayed their last conversation over and over in his mind, trying to remember it word for word, trying to parse every morsel of meaning behind what Harry had said. He looked at the phrasing from every angle, theorizing about various ways to interpret it. It had made for a couple of sleepless nights, but they had been productive. He’d come to some important conclusions.

First of all, Harry was clearly hurt by the choices Draco had made, and it was much more than a bruised ego. He had been hurt when Draco ended their arrangement, and he was hurt that Draco was with someone else. Looking back on the conversation, Draco didn’t really think it had anything to do with Draco’s choice to come out when he did; that was just how Harry chose to react to something much more deeply rooted.

 _It’s nice to know where I stand_ , he had said. He wanted to  _matter_ to Draco, and somehow believed he didn’t, even when Draco had explicitly told him otherwise. The only thing Draco could surmise was that Harry wanted to matter in a way that was beyond just a good friend helping another friend through a difficult time. He wanted to continue to matter. As more than a friend, if his other words were anything to go by.

Secondly, the monogamy had been intentional on Harry’s part, even though he had never communicated as such before. Despite what he had initially said the first time Draco had asked, it appeared that Harry had chosen to be with Draco and only Draco on purpose. It was not simply that Harry wasn’t able to make time for anyone else; he hadn’t  _wanted_ to. He had wanted to spend all of his time with Draco, even if they were just sitting around marking essays together.

Draco swallowed against the tightness in his throat at those memories. They were almost as sweet as their post-coital moments in bed, intertwined. There was an intimacy in those quiet hours of scratching quills, of soft, surreptitious looks, those occasional small touches when Harry would reach for him and brush Draco’s fingers with his, or play with the hair on the back of his neck, or idly trace his ear. Working side by side together, always aware of each other.

So much was being reframed now, in Draco’s mind, after what Harry had said in the wine shop. There were so many small moments that Draco was realizing were actually hinting at something much, much bigger: looks, phrases, choices, that, when coupled with Harry’s recent confessions, added up to Draco’s third and most pivotal conclusion:

Harry wanted to be with him. And only with him. Even now.

It terrified Draco. It made his heart beat wildly to think of it. It made his hands shake. He couldn’t sit still. He could think of nothing else.

Harry wanted to be with him. He might even… he might even be…  _in love_ with Draco.

Or he was at least on his way there, enough that he had made the choice to not be with anyone else, despite the fact that he and Draco were no longer together.

_None of them are you. None of them even come close. So what would be the point?_

For about the hundredth time, Draco closed his eyes and let those words wash over him. They had been so unexpected, deceptively simple in a way that hid the depth of feeling in them. But Draco remembered the way Harry had looked at him in that moment, and the memory alone made his breath come shallow. There was still a part of Draco that wouldn’t let himself believe it, mostly because he wanted so  _badly_ to believe it, and it might very well break his heart all over again to learn it wasn’t true.

But the way Harry had looked at him… he recognized it. Harry had looked at him that way before, more and more as their arrangement wore on. And Draco knew now, maybe because he was finally letting himself truly see it for the first time, that it was more than affection.

Harry loved him. It was more than affection. Harry… loved him.

But what did it change? If Draco was honest with himself, everything. It changed everything. So many of his arguments against being with Harry fell apart under that realization. If Harry could really commit to him, there was so much more that Draco would be willing to risk. And he was already out to nearly everyone in his life. His parents were the final hurdle, and with Harry by his side…

But it wasn’t clear cut either, was it? There were plenty of things the two hadn’t discussed, about the kind of life they wanted to have, if Harry was interested in marriage, a family, things that mattered to Draco quite a bit. He didn’t know what “commitment” meant to Harry, not yet. There was so much more than needed to be said.

And then there was Kyle. So sweet, kind, guileless. A great match for Draco in so many ways. Thinking about breaking it off with him made Draco feel queasy with guilt. Kyle had taken a chance on him, had opened up to Draco so quickly. They had become close fast; being with Kyle was easy.

And yet, he had to acknowledge the fact that he wasn’t fully being himself. He wasn’t fully sharing himself, and he couldn’t be sure if it was really that he was worried about what Kyle would think of him and his past. Part of it was that Draco felt a strange imbalance inherent in their budding relationship, like he was spending a lot of time taking care of Kyle, and a part of him, subconsciously, has decided that Kyle wasn’t equipped in the same way to take care of him.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe Draco was imagining it. But it was what he felt. He was holding himself back, not opening up in the same way Kyle was with him. It was like he wanted to keep some key part of himself  _to_ himself, because Kyle hadn’t earned it yet.

Or maybe he just wanted to keep it for Harry. Harry had proven time and again that he could take care of Draco. And he also let Draco take care of him. The bond there was so deep that Draco found it hard to imagine having something like that with someone else, especially knowing that Harry still wanted that with him.

Draco loved Harry in return. He knew that now. He could finally admit it after all this time. 

_I’m in love with Harry Potter._

It had taken a lot, perhaps too much, to finally get him there. But he had arrived. And that meant there was really only one answer to this problem. He had to end it with Kyle. Whatever happened between him and Harry, however this unfolded, he could not justify stringing Kyle along. That was just cruel, selfish, if he knew he was in love with someone else. He refused to do it.

But he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the alternative.

***

It ought to be done before the date, Draco determined. It was no good to sit through dinner chatting while Kyle made eyes at him and tried to kiss him or hold his hand, knowing he was going to end it in a couple of hours. It would be wrong on so many levels.

His stomach knotted with dread as he Apparated to Kyle’s flat, as he cut their introductory kiss short and told Kyle he wanted to sit on the sofa for a bit and talk. Kyle got this look on his face, a mixture of confusion and anxiety, that hurt Draco to see.

It felt too recent to have this conversation again, a breakup conversation. In some ways it was worse than the one he’d had with Harry, because Kyle was sure to be hurt by it, and he hadn’t known Harry would be.

But it was also easier, because it was the right thing. And that gave Draco courage.

He said it concisely, clearly. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore. It has been really great in so many ways, but I’m realizing that it’s not the right thing for me. I’m really sorry.”

Kyle was quiet for a long time, staring at the floor. Finally, he spoke, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t understand.”

Draco sighed internally. He was afraid of this, but he realized it was inevitable. Kyle would want an explanation. He  _owed_ Kyle an explanation.

“I thought things were going really well,” Kyle said, his voice small. “What is it exactly that’s not right for you?”

Draco took a little while to consider what he wanted to say while Kyle grew steadily more impatient beside him.

“Well?” the brunet pressed.

“I’m…” Draco paused, staring at his hands. “I’m trying to decide how honest you would like me to be.”

Kyle snorted. “You think I want you to  _lie_? Are the reasons that bad?”

“No,” Draco said quickly. “No. Merlin. It’s not even… It’s that if I tell you the whole truth, I’m not sure you’ll believe me.”

Kyle snorted again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You might think I’m… making an excuse or something, but I’m not. It’s the truth.”

“Ok…”

“There was another bloke I was seeing for a while. It was a secret, and it also wasn’t meant to be serious. It ended, we went our separate ways, and I believed it was for the best. I wanted to move on.” He looked at Kyle to find him watching Draco closely. “When I met you, I’d been… having a lot of one-offs. Just going out to Muggle clubs and meeting men, figuring myself out. And then I met you, and I liked you so much, I decided to take a chance on something real, something more substantial. And it went really well, as you know. You and I… it works really well, and I really like being with you. That part isn’t a lie, but…”

Kyle blinked slowly, then looked away, out his living room window. “You’re not actually over this other guy you were seeing.”

Draco sighed in relief, then nodded. Only, he realized Kyle couldn’t see him, so he said, clearing his throat, “Yes. He… contacted me recently. He shared his feelings with me, the fact that he wanted to still be with me. His feelings were deeper than I ever realized. Before, I’d never even let myself consider the possibility… but now that I know the truth, I can’t… I can’t deny that my feelings for him are very real, and very deep as well, and…” He swallowed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, honestly. I have no way of knowing if it will work out. But I know I have to try. And I know that it would be wrong to continue this with you when I want to pursue something serious with him. But I really am sorry. And I do really like you, quite a bit. I hope you’ll believe me when I say it’s nothing that you did.”

Kyle stood and started pacing the room, lost in thought. Draco remained on the sofa, waiting.

“I have so many things going through my head right now, I don’t even know,” he said after a few minutes. “I want to be pissed off. I mean, I  _am_ pissed off.  _Fuck_. I mean…” He turned to Draco. “It would have been nice to know… I  _thought_ you were the kind of guy who had his shit together. You  _seemed_ like the kind of guy who had his shit together. You acted like it. You acted like this would go somewhere.”

“I know,” Draco said. “At the time I honestly believed-“

“That it would,” Kyle cut him off. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He turned away, his arms folded over his chest. “It doesn’t really make much of a difference, does it?”

Draco sighed. “No, maybe not.” He stood, stepping closer to Kyle. “I just don’t want you to think that it’s something about you, that’s all. I don’t want you to think that I was faking it or that the things I said to you were untrue. Because it was all true, everything I said, all the things I like about you. It was all true.”

Kyle turned back to him. “And yet you’re choosing someone else anyway.”

“It’s not like that, though,” Draco said, trying to keep his voice gentle. “It has nothing to do with… It’s  _him_. It was always him. It wouldn’t matter who I had started seeing this summer. Even if it had been someone other than you, the moment that he told me that truth about his feelings I would have chosen him. Because I… I’m in love with him. I just… am.”

Kyle grimaced, and Draco felt his insides twists.

“I’m not saying it to hurt you, I promise. I’m saying it-“

“ _Gods_ , just… shut up, ok?” Kyle said. “I get it.” He shook his head. “I’d really like to hate you, and it would be a lot easier if you were more of an asshole, actually. But you have to be so fucking… I don’t even know.  _Kind_. Decent. It’s fucking annoying, and it actually doesn’t help me. Because you’re still in love with this other guy so…” He waved his hand. “That leaves me out of it and that sucks and I  _get_ to feel shitty about it, ok?”

Draco bit his lip and nodded slowly. “Yes, you’re right. You do.”

To his surprise, Kyle laughed, though it was dry and thoroughly unamused. “Of course you would say that. Of course. Because you’re so…  _understanding._ ”

“I…” Draco was at a loss. Was he supposed to be less nice or something? He didn’t believe it would actually help. The last thing Kyle needed was to feel  _not_ cared about. “I don’t know what to say.”

Kyle huffed. “You can’t say anything. Nothing that will make me feel better, anyway. You’re just going to have to live with that.”

Draco chewed on his lip some more. “Fair enough.”

“I hate you.”

“I get that.”

“Except I don’t actually. I mean… obviously.”

Draco looked up to see that Kyle was staring at him, his mouth forming the smallest semblance of a smile, though his eyes were sad.

“Can you just go, please? I’d like to be alone now.”

Draco nodded. “Sure. Yes. Of course. I’ll go. I really am-“

“Yeah,” Kyle interrupted him again. “I know.” But it sounded more resigned than angry, and Draco decided to take that as a good sign. 

There was more he wanted to say, in truth. He wanted to make sure Kyle really knew how great he was, and that the only thing really holding him back was the fact that he didn’t  _know_ how great he was. He was worried that this breakup would only contribute to Kyle’s insecurities, and that was the last thing he wanted.

But he couldn’t fix it. Kyle didn’t want him to. Kyle would either believe the things Draco’d already told him or he wouldn’t. And there was nothing Draco could do to sway him in the right direction.

So, with Kyle’s clear dismissal and nothing more to say, Draco turned on the spot, removing himself from Kyle’s life with a small  _pop_ of magic before he Disapparated. 

***

_Dear Harry,_

_I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said to me last week in the wine shop. In truth, I can’t get it out of my head. ~~I’d like to meet and~~  If it’s all right with you, I’d like to meet to discuss this further. I want to make sure that you and I want the same things before_

_Dear Harry,_

_I’ve ended things with Kyle. It just didn’t seem right after the things you said and the things I know I feel for you. I want to be with you, and from what you said to me last week it seems like you want that too. Do you? I need to know once and for all_

_Dear Harry,_

_~~I’m in love with you. Do you feel the same?~~  Shit._

_Dear Harry,_

_I don’t even know what to write anymore. I’ve started this letter what feels like a hundred times already and nothing sounds right. So I’m just going to come out and say it: I love_

_Dear Harry,_

_You’re great; I’m great; we love each other. Let’s get married and make babies or something._

_Love,_

_Draco_

_P.S. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. How do I do this?_

_P.P.S. If you ever read any of these letters I will die of shame._

 

Draco banged his head on his desk and groaned incoherently. This was not going well so far. And he didn’t really think it should be that hard. All he wanted was to write Harry a letter indicating that he reciprocated the feelings Harry had hinted at and suggesting that they get together to properly talk about what they both wanted. But every time he tried to put it on paper the words sounded off. He kept hearing it in the snarkiest or most demanding form of his own voice and he had no idea if that’s how Harry would read it.

Hell, he had no idea if Harry would  _want_ to read such a letter. The way they had left things after their conversation was cut short was ambiguous at best. Yes, Harry had said some things that suggested deeply rooted feelings and an interest in commitment. But then Draco’s boyfriend had showed up and made things awkward, and Harry had clearly been unhappy and even hurt by the discovery that Draco was doing things with Kyle that he and Harry had shared together.

Had it been enough to put Harry off the idea? Had he rethought things and realized Draco wasn’t worth it?

Draco had been so clear when he’d ended things with Kyle. He’d been so sure about Harry’s feelings for him, those couple of days after the encounter. And now he was doubting himself.

“Bugger,” Draco said quietly. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t  _not_ talk to Harry. He had to know once and for all what could happen between them, if anything. But he was at a complete loss as to how to get the conversation rolling. The last thing he wanted was to write a letter that Harry would misconstrue somehow and end up tossing in the fire, leaving Draco to await a response that would never come.

The floo chimed, and Draco looked up, his stomach lurching.

Could it be? Was it possible that it was Harry? Maybe he had tired of waiting for a response and wanted to initiate a conversation himself. Maybe he’d somehow heard about Draco’s breakup with Kyle and wanted to know if he was the reason.

Draco stood from his desk chair abruptly and rushed to the floo as it chimed again. He pulled the lever to answer it, his heart frantic.

Pansy’s head and torso appeared, and Draco sighed, his body sagging.

“Pansy,” he said.

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Pansy replied drily. “One might think you actually wanted to talk to me.”

Draco sat down in front of the fireplace, sighing again. “Of course I want to talk to you,” he said. “I actually have quite a bit to update you on, it turns out.”

“I’ve already heard,” Pansy said with a purse of her lips. “Imagine my surprise when I sat down with Lindsey Bergeron for tea yesterday and she informed me that you had ended things with her brother on  _Tuesday_ and left him a complete mess. Apparently you’re in love with someone else as well.”

“Pansy…” 

“No, it’s quite all right,” Pansy said lightly. “It’s not like I, as one of your closest friends, would expect you to actually  _confide_ in me about the most important changes in your life. No, of course not. Why would I ever expect such a thing?”

“I was going to tell you, once I’d gotten it all sorted. There are still some things I’m working through and I just wasn’t… I was going to tell you once I’d worked it out. I swear.”

Pansy watched him a moment, seeming almost bewildered. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might want to  _help_ you work it out?”

Draco looked back at her. “I suppose… I hadn’t thought of that.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Pansy sounded exasperated, but almost affectionately so, now. “You’ve been trying to work through too much on your own. You’ve been keeping too much to yourself. What good is it doing you? Honestly?”

Draco considered that. “At the moment, not much.”

Pansy’s expression softened. “Can I come through?”

Draco’s first instinct was to resist, but he didn’t even know why anymore. Perhaps Pansy was right. Perhaps he’d tried too hard to be independent and self-contained these past months, to the point where it was hurting his friends and even himself. 

If Pansy wanted to help, he ought to let her.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll open it for you.”

“See you in a moment,” the witch said, and disappeared from the fire.

She came spinning out of the hearth gracefully not a minute later, dusting non-existent soot off of her person before turning to him, her head cocked and a small smile on her face.

“Pansy,” Draco greeted her again, this time much more warmly and returning the smile. He leaned down to kiss her cheek and she allowed it. Her eyes were glinting when she pulled away.

“I believe this particular conversation calls for tea, don’t you?” she said. “As well as a comfortable place to sit?”

“Indeed,” he said, and followed her out of his study

He got her settled in the west wing parlor and requested a full tea service from Nixie. Draco expected to be bombarded with questions as they waited for it to arrive, but Pansy merely sat there, looking at him expectantly. Apparently Draco was to be the one to decide what it was they would talk about.

“Is Kyle really a mess?” he found himself asking.

Pansy sighed. “He is… quite upset, as I understand it,” she said. “Lindsey said he fluctuates between being angry that you didn’t choose him and deeply sad that he wasn’t good enough for you.”

Draco rested his head in his hands a moment. He heard the small  _pop_ of the tea tray appearing, followed by the pouring of liquid and tinkling of porcelain that indicated Pansy was fixing herself a cup.

“I feel awful about that,” he said finally. “It was never my intention to hurt him.”

“I know that,” Pansy said, and her voice was surprisingly gentle. “And believe it or not, Lindsey knows that as well. You aren’t exactly going to be her favorite person anytime soon, but she confided to me that much of what Kyle is feeling right now has to do more with his ex, the one he was with before he moved here.”

Draco looked up at that. “Really?”

Pansy nodded. “Apparently the man did quite a number on Kyle. He’s had a hard time working through it.”

“He told me a bit about it,” Draco said. “He made it seem as though he was over it. But perhaps, based on the things he said, I should have guessed that he wasn’t.”

“In a way, you were a rebound for him as much as he was for you,” Pansy mused before taking a sip of her tea. “After all, you were only together, what, a month?”

“Close to it.”

“So, in truth, him being  _very_ upset that you’ve broken up would be a bit of an overreaction, if he wasn’t already struggling with his previous breakup. You didn’t do anything so stupid as to tell him you loved him or anything.”

“Of course not,” said Draco, aghast. “I don’t take that sort of thing very lightly at all.”

“And he never said as much to you.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Do you think he fancied himself in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly. “I hope not. If he did, I think… I don’t really think it’s possible he actually  _was_ , because I don’t think he got a chance to fully know me. If he thought himself in love with me, I don’t think you could say it was really… real.”

Pansy nodded and took another sip of tea. “I think you’re right about that.”

“Still, I regret it,” Draco said, finally reaching for a teacup of his own. “I likely made it worse.”

Pansy frowned in thought. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“I tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault that I was ending it. I tried to tell him that he’s wonderful, that I meant the things I said, but I don’t think he believed me.”

“Time will tell,” Pansy said sagely. “Perhaps some of it stuck, in the end.”

Draco sipped on his black tea and thought that over. “I can only hope,” he said, after a while. “It’s not as if I can do anything about it now.”

“No,” Pansy agreed. “It would be foolish to even try.”

“Have I put you in a difficult position with Lindsey? I know you two were striking up a friendship.”

Pansy waved a hand at that dismissively. “Lindsey and I will be fine. And if she somehow holds it against me for being your friend then…” She shrugged. “She’s a fool, and I’m better off without her.”

Draco smiled. “You’re a very good friend, you know, Pansy,” he said. “I know I don’t tell you enough, but it’s true.”

She waved her hand again, as if to ward off too many good feelings coming from him, but Draco could tell that she was pleased.

“Well, enough about Kyle. You know why I’m really here.”

“You want to finally know who my mystery lover is.”

“I want to know what happened,” Pansy insisted. “I want to know why you’re suddenly admitting that you’re in love with him, after all this time.” Draco took a sip of tea and watched her. “And yes, obviously I want to know who he is. If you really do love him, I think it’s time I ought to know, don’t you?”

“Honestly, I’m a bit surprised you haven’t figured it out by now. You’re certainly clever enough, if you make a few intuitive leaps.”

She scowled at him. “How in Merlin’s name was I supposed to figure it out? It could be anyone, and I honestly don’t even know that many gay wizards. Most circles I run in they keep that sort of thing to themselves, unfortunately.”

“Well, you know it was someone I was spending quite a bit of time with.”

“Certainly.”

“And given that I was at Hogwarts for most of the year, without much opportunity to leave…”

Pansy stared at him a moment, working through that. “You’re saying it  _is_ a staff member? Or simply someone who lives in Hogsmeade, I suppose.”

Draco shook his head. “The former.”

Pansy looked puzzled. “But who… who would I know who…? I don’t  _know_ any of the staff, besides the old codgers who taught us when we were there, and I know it’s not one of them.”

“You know him too,” Draco assured her. “You read the papers. You must know he works at Hogwarts, has been for a number of years. You’ve probably just forgotten.”

Pansy watched him with narrowed eyes. “Read the papers?” And then it dawned. Draco saw the exact moment it all clicked into place. Her mouth dropped in disbelief before lighting up with a wide smile. Then, without warning, she threw her head back and started cackling uncontrollably.

Draco sipped his tea and watched her in silence.

“Of  _course,”_ she said when she could breath again. “Harry bloody Potter. You’re in love with Harry Potter. Of  _course_ you are.”

“Yes, it seems quite obvious, now that I’ve given you all those hints,” Draco said drily.

“It’s just too perfect,” she replied, still laughing. “It’s just too bloody perfect.”

“You’re not upset that it’s him?”

“Oh, tosh,” she said. “It’s been years since school. And it’s not like I have anything real to hold against him anyway. He did save the world, after all, and all of us with it.”

“True,” Draco replied. “Though that’s not why I’m in love with him.”

Pansy adjusted herself on the sofa, scooting closer to Draco’s chair eagerly, obviously fighting a grin. “So why  _are_ you in love with him?”

Draco found himself fighting a smile of his own. “There are a lot of reasons.”

“Tell me,” Pansy insisted. “I want to hear the whole thing from start to finish. Tell me  _everything._ ”

Draco began with his arrival at Hogwarts, the way he found himself resenting Harry at first, but how Harry had won him over quickly and how there was a great deal of unspoken attraction between them. He told her about the night at the club, and even about almost hooking up with Rick (“Oh, I’m glad you didn’t go through with it. He sounds like a tosser.”), and how Harry came to him afterwards and made him feel better about his choice. When he told Pansy about the kiss they shared, he found himself going into more detail than he intended, and Pansy was quite literally fanning herself by the end of it.

“So after that I decided that if I wanted to get comfortable sleeping with men, then Harry was the best person to help me.”

“I don’t blame you,” Pansy said, her cheeks a bit pink. “And he agreed, I suppose?”

“He did.”

“Of course.”

“But he set some conditions on it. We both did.” He told Pansy about the talk they had, the agreements they’d made, and how they’d snogged and frotted on Harry’s couch. Multiple times.

“Sweet Merlin, Draco, this is getting steamy.”

Draco grinned. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

“Tell me.”

And so he told her about the lessons, giving her enough details to keep that pleased flush on her cheeks but still keeping some things to himself, some things he felt only belonged to him and Harry. He told her about the way he struggled with some of it, the hang-ups he’d had that he found a way to overcome, the fear of what his family and friends would think. Pansy put her hand on his then, squeezing it hard with love and pride shining in her eyes, and that was enough to spur him on.

Tales of his Christmas break with Harry had her positively beaming, especially when he told her that Harry had started sharing some important things about himself, things only his closest friends knew.

“It all sounds very sweet, actually,” she said. “Do you think you were falling for each other even then?”

“It’s possible,” said Draco. “I think that was the beginning, although I refused to see it at the time. And I have no idea what was going on in Harry’s head. I suppose I’ll have to ask him.” He felt a pinch of nerves at the reminder that he still needed to find some way to reach out to Harry. His mind went swiftly to the stack of unfinished letters on his desk, at least until Pansy nudged him back to the present.

“What happened after Christmas?”

Draco looked out the window as memories from the spring term came rushing back to him. “Things only became more intense between us. The weekly encounters we’d had in the autumn weren’t enough anymore. After so much time spent together over Christmas we didn’t…” He swallowed. “We didn’t want to be apart. It wasn’t even about sex anymore, we just…”

He could feel Pansy watching him, and he glanced down at his hands.

“And yet you still didn’t know? You never talked about it?”

“Our feelings?” Draco clarified.

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “No. We never talked about it, other than that we wanted to spend more time together. I know it sounds ludicrous, that we didn’t…” He glanced at Pansy, who did look incredulous, as a matter of fact. “You have to understand that at the time, I wasn’t out to anyone other than Harry – and Francesca, I suppose, but only because she figured it out on her own. I had no intention of telling her, of telling anyone. I was still holding onto an idea of how my life  _should_ be, with a pureblood wife and-“ He shook his head. “To acknowledge my feelings, even to myself, would make it real. It would mean that I would have to take risks with my heart again, coming out to everyone I know, taking a chance on a man who by all accounts didn’t even want a real relationship. I was completely terrified. I can’t even describe…”

They were both quiet as Pansy poured herself another cup of tea and thought that over. “And Potter?” she asked finally. “He never said anything, did anything, to indicate that his feelings were deeper?”

“There were signs,” Draco admitted. “Looking back on it, knowing what I know now, there were signs. The way he would look at me sometimes, or little things he would say or almost say. He was the one who suggested we spend most nights together, any night neither of us were on duty. He talked about the future, about how it would be easier come summertime, when we didn’t have to work. But he never outright said that he wanted to be exclusive or that he wanted something long-term.”

“And you were too afraid to take those small signs as indications of his feelings.”

“Yes, exactly. I assumed they were just… his way. I assumed he had been the same way with the men he had been with in the past.”

“Well, how were you supposed to know otherwise?” Pansy said.

“Maybe I knew deep down,” Draco said. “Or at least part of me wanted to believe it. But that part of me wasn’t strong enough to do anything about it. Not yet anyway.”

“How did it finally end?” Pansy asked. “You implied, when last we spoke of it, that  _you_ were the one to end it, because of his… issues with commitment. I thought maybe the two of you had spoken of it, of your feelings. But now it sounds as though you never did.”

Draco shook his head. “We never spoke of it outright. He didn’t reject me or tell me he wasn’t ready for a relationship. It wasn’t that. But I did end it because I finally realized my feelings for him were becoming serious and I didn’t believe he could commit. I didn’t have proof but… It’s like you said. I had no reason to believe he would change his mind for me. And I was still terrified of coming out. I couldn’t bring myself to take so many risks for him. But I also couldn’t stay with him as we were, because of my feelings for him. So I ended it. It was…” He swallowed. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And it made everything… strange between us. Harry was hurt, I know that now. Though I didn’t at the time. And so he started avoiding me when he could, and I avoided him in turn, because it was just easier that way and…” He sighed. “Then the summer started, and I did everything I could to move on from Harry. I slept with a number of Muggle men that I picked up in clubs. But I got bored with that quickly. And then I met Kyle.”

“But he didn’t help you move on either,” Pansy pointed out.

“No,” said Draco. “Not that that’s what I  _wanted_ from him. I didn’t pursue something with him as a way to get over Harry. Not intentionally anyway. I genuinely thought I was moving on. It wasn’t until I saw Harry again and he implied that he would be interested in something serious with me that I realized that I was really and truly in love with him. And then I knew I had to end it with Kyle.”

“So you could be with Potter.”

“Yes…” Draco said cautiously. “And simply because I don’t think it’s right to be in a relationship like that with someone if you’re in love with someone else. No matter what happens with Harry, the simple fact that I love him means I shouldn’t be with Kyle.”

She was quiet a moment. “I’m confused. You’re in love with Potter, but you’re not sure you want to pursue something with him?”

Draco was stymied. “No, I am. I mean… I want to.”

“What’s stopping you? Have you spoken again?”

“No. I’ve been trying to compose a letter to him, but it’s not going well.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, exasperated. “I felt so sure at first, of his feelings, of what he wanted. But the farther I get from the conversation the more I start to doubt it and… I’m terrified all over again. I’m terrified of rejection. I’m terrified I somehow misconstrued his words and he didn’t mean what I thought he meant. And I’m terrified that even if he  _did_ mean them the way I thought, that maybe now he’s changed his mind.”

“What exactly did he say? Perhaps I can help you interpret them.”

Draco blushed. “He said a lot of things. We were having almost a bit of an argument, actually. It’s sort of a blur.”

Pansy smirked. “Are you telling me you don’t remember his exact words? Because that doesn’t really seem like you.”

Draco blushed deeper. “No, I remember the exact words. The most important ones anyway.”

“Well, go on then.”

“We were arguing because… because Harry didn’t understand why I had chosen to come out for Kyle when I wouldn’t for him. That’s how he saw it anyway. I think he was actually just jealous, because I had referred to Kyle as my boyfriend. But either way, I pointed out to him that the situations were different because Kyle and I had agreed to be exclusive. And Harry got upset because he had apparently thought we were too, because he had told me before Christmas that he wasn’t seeing other people. And I reminded him the reasons he gave, that he was too busy, and he said those weren’t really the reasons.”

“Did he give you the real reasons?” Pansy asked, leaning forward.

Draco thought about it. “He didn’t really answer, but I didn’t really give him the chance. Because I was rather… agitated. I told him that the reason I left was because summer was coming up and I didn’t believe the monogamy would last. And I didn’t want to be one of many. And he said, ‘You  _weren’t_ one of many, that was the point.’ And I said that I knew he had gone back to his other lovers, that right after I ended it he immediately started sleeping with other men. But I was wrong about that. Apparently he’d just been going to visit Weasley and Granger and their new daughter. And then he told me that he hadn’t been with anyone since our split.”

Pansy gasped, her eyes wide. “No one?”

“Apparently. He made a point of emphasizing that. ‘I haven’t been with  _anyone_ ,’ he said. And I asked him why. And he said…” Draco found himself fighting a smile again. “He said, ‘What would be the point? None of them are you. None of them even come close. So what would be the point?’”

Pansy made a sound that was suspiciously like a squeal and bounced up and down in her seat a moment. “ _Draco_ ,” she said. “That’s so…  _romantic._ ”

Draco ducked his head. “I don’t know, is it?”

“Yes! How else are we supposed to interpret that? He’s been pining for you since your breakup to the point where he can’t bear to be with anyone else.” She clutched her hand to her breast. “You’re all he’s been able to think about, obviously.” 

Draco kept his head down, secretly enjoying her theatrics. “Well, he never outright said any of that.”

“Please,” Pansy said, waving a hand. “That’s what he meant, and you know it.”

Draco sighed, finally looking up. “Yes, all right. That’s how I interpreted it too, at least at first.”

“So what did you say to him, when he said that? How did you two leave it?”

“I was stunned. By the time I managed to formulate a response, asking him exactly what he meant by all of that, Kyle was interrupting us.”

“Kyle was there?”

“We were shopping. We had separated temporarily and Harry cornered me while I was alone to have this conversation.” 

“But you didn’t get to finish it.”

“Correct. But Harry had said enough that I knew… I  _thought_ , that perhaps he loves me after all and I-“

“He does,” said Pansy emphatically. “He must.”

“I hope so,” Draco said softly. “He at least cares for me enough to give us a proper try, and that’s enough for me now. I’m brave enough now to try too. I’m ready to take the risk. But I’m struggling with how to begin.”

“So you’ve been trying to write him a letter.”

“Yes. But like I said, it’s not going well.”

“Well, what are you trying to say?”

“That I’ve been thinking about what he said, and that I care for him too, and maybe we could try again. But that it’s important that we talk and make sure we want the same things before we move forward.”

“The same things? Monogamy you mean? Commitment?”

“That and… you know…” Draco scratched his neck nervously. “A real future, a family.”

Pansy arched a brow. “You want to have the children conversation  _now_ , before you’ve even gotten back together?”

“Why do you say it like  _that_ , like that’s such an unreasonable thing?”

“It just seems to me you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself. It’s not like you’re going to go out and adopt a child next week or something. Surely you’d want to wait. Surely you’d want to be married, or at least committed in some official way.”

“Of course,” said Draco. “It would take a few years, probably.”

“So why does it have to get all sorted now?” Pansy asked. “You and Potter haven’t even had a chance to properly reconnect, to figure out how you want your relationship to be  _now_. How can you expect either of you to know exactly what you want it to be in three years?”

“I’d at least want to get a general sense,” Draco grumbled.

“It just seems like a bit too much pressure to put on the initial conversation. Especially when he’s the one who’s stuck his neck out for you not knowing how you feel at all. You’d be asking a lot of him.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side in this,” Draco said, though he knew she had a point.

Pansy heaved an exasperated sigh. “It’s not about sides. You wanted to know why you were having such a hard time writing the letter. And I’m saying perhaps because you’re trying to convey too much. Maybe you need to make it simpler, make it about what you want with him  _now_ , not three years down the line. That’s all.”

Draco thought about that. “What I want with him now…”

“Yes. Do you even know what that is?”

Draco thought some more. “To begin anew. To start over, from the beginning, do it properly this time.”

“And what does that mean, properly?”

Draco felt his lips quirk up in a small smile. “I want to ask him on a date. A nice one, with good food, something he would like. Public enough that we would be seen out together, so he knows I’m serious about making this work, but private enough that we can really talk, about whatever we want. Where we can be open and honest with each other.”

Pansy nodded. “That sounds like a good beginning.”

“Seems silly to ask him out in a letter, though. I ought to just ask him in person, if it’s just about… a date.”

“All right. How would you go about asking him?”

“I suppose I’d have to go to Grimmauld when he’s home and ask him then. I could… I could explain to him that I’ve ended it with Kyle because I… still have feelings for him and… then I could ask him to dinner.”

“I think that’s a very classy way to go about it.”

“And brave,” said Draco. “A bit frightening, in fact.”

“You could bring him a gift,” Pansy suggested, her eyes lighting up. “Something small but thoughtful. It gives you another reason to show up at his house other than to ask him out. It might make it easier.”

“This is starting to sound an awful lot like courting.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”

Draco wrinkled his nose. “It’s old-fashioned and awkward, that’s what.”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Well sure, when it’s forced by your parents and you don’t really know the person, it’s not pleasant. But it can actually be rather romantic, in the right circumstances. I rather enjoyed it when Theo courted me. It was relaxed. There wasn’t a lot of pressure, even though we knew we were to be married. We just talked and stole a few kisses when we could. It was sweet.” She had a fond smile on her face at the memories, and Draco found himself feeling wistful that his experiences hadn’t been as romantic as that.

“I suppose there isn’t that much difference between courting and dating,” he conceded.

“Just sex, really,” said Pansy. “With all the encounters being chaperoned, there wasn’t much chance. With dating, you can decide for yourself when you’re ready for that.”

Draco nodded. “True.” In all honesty, he hadn’t really thought much about sex and when he and Harry might resume that part of their relationship. It seemed less important than the rest of it, mostly because they already knew that they were sexually compatible. 

Strangely, Draco found himself cautious in that regard. He didn’t want to jump right into bed with Harry again, when he really thought about it. That would feel too much liking picking up right where they left off, and that wasn’t what he wanted. He really did want to start over with Harry, even see where this could go  _without_ the sexual component, at least at first. 

So perhaps this whole courting idea wasn’t such a bad one after all.

***

He kept the gift simple, not wanting to overthink it. He went to a bakery in Diagon Alley and picked out a selection of Harry’s favorites, asking them to arrange it nicely in a box with the treacle tart as the centerpiece. They did up elegantly with a large blue bow and Draco was satisfied with the result.

And terrified out of his mind.

 _Why didn’t I just write him a bloody letter instead?_ he asked himself as he rounded the corner onto Grimmauld Place and made his way towards Number 12.

Of course, he knew the answer to that. This was much more personal, more romantic. And the bigger risk. Pansy’s point had stuck in his mind, that Harry had taken quite a risk telling Draco how he felt, knowing that Draco was with someone else and there was a good chance of rejection. It was only right that Draco meet him halfway, choose to be brave as well.

Harry was worth it.

He came to Number 12 and was relieved to discover that he could still see the front of the house clearly. It meant he was still keyed into the wards. He’d been worried about that, wondering if Harry would have excluded him after their breakup.

But he hadn’t. Draco could pass through the shimmering layer of magic easily, and he did, making his way up the walk to the front steps, the large white box in his hand.

He paused there, panic seizing him suddenly.

 _This is stupid_ , he told himself, wanting to turn and run.  _This is so stupid._ It could all go horribly wrong. Harry could slam the door in his face or tell him it was too little too late.

What if Harry opened the door and he had some other bloke with him? What if he was fucking some other bloke right at that very moment and had forgotten all about Draco already? What if-

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn’t stupid; that was just the fear talking. It was just that he’d never done anything like this before. He’d never put himself out there so openly before.

But he could do it. He could do it for Harry. And maybe Harry  _would_ tell him it was too late and that he had moved on. But in that case Draco would survive it.

And, if he was honest, he really didn’t think that would happen. Harry had told Draco how he felt. He had chosen not to be with anyone else in months. And he’d allowed Draco through the wards.

It felt like Harry was waiting for him.

So he took another deep breath, walked up the front steps, and rang the doorbell.

It took a minute. It took long enough that Draco started to question whether Harry was home. He rang the doorbell again. Perhaps Kreacher would at least answer and be able to tell him where Harry was. He could leave the gift and figure out his next move. It wasn’t ideal, but…

Then he heard the faint sound of footsteps on the stairs inside, and he recognized the pattern immediately. His heart started to pound. The door opened.

Harry looked a bit messy. He was dressed down in worn jeans and a t-shirt that was dusted with what looked like bits of plaster and paint. His hair was unstyled, as if he hadn’t yet showered. But Draco couldn’t help but think he looked quite sexy anyway.

Harry looked at him wide-eyed for a moment before saying, “Draco,” his voice mostly a surprised breath.

“Hi, Harry,” Draco replied, noticing he sounded a bit breathless himself.

Harry stared a second more before looking down at himself. “Sorry, I was…” He brushed some white dust from his shoulder. “The renovators are here, for the third floor. I’m helping them.”

“Oh, that’s… good,” Draco said. “Things are coming along nicely then?”

“What? Yeah. Oh, yeah, definitely. It’s just… that’s why I look like this, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting… you know, company.”

Draco felt himself melt as he watched Harry self-consciously straighten himself out a bit more. It was too endearing for words. He held out the box.

“I didn’t mean to keep you from your work. I just wanted to bring you a gift.”

Harry looked at the box, surprised. “In person?”

Draco felt his cheeks warm. “Yes.”

“Oh.” He took the box from Draco and their fingers brushed, sending sparks all the way up Draco’s arms to the top of his spine. “Thank you. But my birthday’s not for another three days.”

Draco stood gaping a moment. He had completely forgotten what day it was, if he was honest, so he hadn’t been thinking about it. But of course, Harry’s birthday was the very end of July, and they were nearly there.

“It’s not a birthday present,” Draco said. “That’s… I have a different present for your birthday.”  _Or I will, at any rate_ , he told himself. He would have to get something better than treacle tart for that, something meaningful and heartfelt.

Harry looked down at the box and back up at Draco. “Oh. Then what is this present for?”

“Ummm… It’s just… It’s just, you know, a small token.” Harry stared at him. “Of my…” He cleared his throat.  _Come on, say it. You have to say it out loud._ “Of my love. For you.”

The confusion on Harry’s face softened into disbelief, and something else, something that might have been hope. “Love?”

“Yes.”

“You love me?”

“Very much so. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

Harry looked down at the gift again. When he met Draco’s eyes, they were filled with that tenderness Draco recognized from their last conversation, and it made his blood hum. “Would you like to come inside?”

“I…” Draco honestly hadn’t been expecting the invitation, though he didn’t know why. Either way, he couldn’t say yes. He knew what would happen if the two men were together behind closed doors, without a large white box between them. And he wasn’t ready for that yet. He wanted to do this right. “Not today. Not yet.”

“Oh.”

He knew there was a note of disappointment in Harry’s voice, and Draco wanted to fix that immediately. “I came to bring you a gift and to ask you something, to ask you to – to have dinner with me.”

"Dinner?"

"Yes."

“When?”

“Tomorrow night. I have reservations somewhere special for 7:30.”

Harry grinned. “You were confident I would say yes, then.”

“I hoped, at least,” said Draco. “And I wanted to make sure I could get the reservations I wanted.”

“Where?”

“Now, that’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Why is it a surprise or why am I asking you to dinner?”

Harry laughed, a low, nervous sound. “I honestly don’t know. I‘m sort of in shock right now.”

Draco laughed too, relieved to know he wasn’t the only one. “It’s a surprise because I want it to be special. And I want it to be special because I love you.” Merlin, it was liberating to be able to say that out loud. And the way it made Harry’s eyes glow and his throat bob, it was well worth it. “As for why I want to take you to dinner in the first place, it’s because I want us to start over, begin at the beginning, a proper relationship.” He took a step closer, knowing this was a bit dangerous, given the expression on Harry’s face and how thoroughly snoggable he looked at the moment. “I want to be with you and only you, and I want to know if you want that as well.”

“I do,” Harry said immediately. “I thought I made that clear. I mean, I was  _trying_ to make that clear. I didn’t exactly get to say everything I intended to say.”

“That’s all right.” Draco put his hands over Harry’s, which were still holding the box. “You can say everything you want to say to me tomorrow night. If you'll agree to have dinner with me, that is.” Harry still hadn't actually said yes.

“I really have to wait until tomorrow?”

Draco laughed again, his eyes flitting to Harry’s perfect lips. It was so tempting, to just lean in a little, and –

He tore his eyes away, looking into Harry’s. “One step at a time, right?” he said.

Harry let out a shaky sigh. “Right. I suppose that... Yes. Tomorrow night, then.”

“Tomorrow night. I’ll come here and pick you up.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Good.”

Draco knew he couldn’t stay any longer. He was in great danger of knocking the massive box of sweets out of Harry’s hands and throwing himself at the brunet. And that was counter-productive to his current intentions.

Besides, if this all went well, there would be plenty of that later. It gave him something to look forward to.

He nodded to Harry in goodbye and turned, making his way down the walk. At the gate he paused, turning to look back, knowing Harry was still standing in the doorway watching him. He grinned, then turned again, passing through the soft magic of the wards. Harry disappeared from sight then, but the glimmer in his eyes remained burned into Draco’s memory.

He made his way to the closest Apparition point, practically skipping down the street. He had  _a lot_ to look forward to. Yes indeed.


	18. Lesson 18: Beginning Anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing response last chapter!! It was exactly what I was hoping for, that you all would be excited for Harry and Draco's reconciliation.
> 
> Speaking of which, here it is! Or, as I like to call it, Drarry Feels Fest 2019. It's all the fluff we've been missing these past few chapters, plus a couple of important developments. But still, so much fluff. You should probably check yourself for cavities after you finish it.
> 
> I hope it's everything you've been waiting for. Please let me know what you think! <3

When Draco knocked on Harry’s door the following evening, his insides were still squirming with nerves, but this was of a different sort. He wanted this night to be perfect. This starting over business was a good idea in theory, but Draco was realizing that it was a lot of pressure. He wanted to say and do the right things; he wanted Harry to feel cared about.

Harry opened the door much more quickly this time. Draco’s intuition – or, at least, his extensive knowledge of Harry – told him Harry had been likely pacing the front parlor for the past twenty minutes waiting for him. But no matter, Draco had gotten ready for the date way too quickly as well and had walked about his manor aimlessly trying to distract himself. It had been sweet relief when he looked at his watch to see that it was a quarter past seven and he could finally make his way to Harry.

“Hi,” Harry said.

“Hi,” replied Draco. “You look handsome.”

Harry did, of course. He was wearing a bespoke blue suit that hugged him in all the right places, and Draco was having some trouble with wandering eyes.

“You implied that I should dress up a bit,” he said, eyeing Draco’s gray suit appreciatively. “Seems I had the right idea.”

“You did.”

“What would you have done if I’d opened the door in jeans and one of my old Weasley jumpers?” Harry asked with a grin.

“Told you you looked handsome anyway,” Draco replied smoothly.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was blushing. “And probably checked out my arse, too.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

Harry laughed and stepped out onto the stoop, shutting the door behind him. When he turned back, the two men found themselves standing unexpectedly close. They stared at each other a moment.

“Hi,” Harry said again.

Draco’s eyes flitted to Harry’s shy smile. “Hi.”

“I missed you.”

“You saw me yesterday.”

“True,” Harry said, his eyes tracing Draco’s face as if drinking him in. “But it wasn’t nearly enough.”

Draco felt himself take a small gasp. “No, it wasn’t.”

It would be very easy to lean in those extra few inches. But he knew what would happen if he did, and he actually wanted to make it to the restaurant. He wanted this real, proper, public date with Harry. So snogging would have to wait.

He took a step back and offered his elbow. 

“Shall we?”

“Where are we going?” Harry asked him as he accepted.

“You’ll see.”

He Apparated them to a charming little street off of Diagon where a number of wizarding London’s finest restaurants now sat nestled amongst each other discreetly. Draco took Harry’s hand as they made their way to the newest among them. He very much hoped Harry hadn’t had the chance to try it yet. It was supposed to be an experience.

Harry looked around curiously, and when they stopped in front of a set of simple glass doors that read VOYAGE in block letters, he froze.

“You managed to get a reservation here?” he asked Draco incredulously.

Pleased, Draco simply smiled. “Yes. I had to pull a few strings, of course.”

“I would think so. I’ve never been.”

“Oh, good,” said Draco, opening the door for Harry and gesturing him inside. “I was hoping that was the case. But, what with you being the Great Harry Potter and all, I figure you can get a reservation anywhere.” He followed Harry through the doors.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe, but I never try.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

The foyer was dimly lit and empty save for a hostess stationed behind a black podium. She glanced up briefly as they approached.

“Reservation?” she asked.

“Malfoy,” he told her.

She checked the list, then looked up again, her eyes a little more keen now. “For two?”

“That’s correct.”

She looked between the two of them a moment, her gaze lingering somewhat obviously on Harry. He looked blandly back at her, as if waiting for her to say something. But she didn’t, only plucked a wine list from her station and said, “Right this way, gentlemen.”

“This must be a wizardspace,” Harry remarked to Draco as they wound their way through the labrynthine restaurant. “It’s huge. Definitely smaller from the outside.” 

“We have almost a dozen different dining rooms,” the hostess told Harry, obviously having overheard them. “Each one featuring different cuisine in its natural setting. They rotate the locales weekly.”

Off to their left they caught a glimpse of diners enjoying a simple and elegant meal in what looked like a Japanese tea house, and then farther up on the right a large party was watching their servers removing an entire roasted pig from a pit that had been dug into the sandy ground. 

“Incredible,” said Harry, craning his neck to get a better view of the magically created island setting. “What is that then, Polynesian?”

“Looks like it,” said Draco.

“Which one are we going to?” Harry asked him eagerly.

Draco smirked. “You’ll see.”

Harry shook his head. “A surprise to the end, hm?”

They finally stopped in front of a plain black door marked only with a large silver “2.”

“Your private dining experience, Mr. Malfoy,” the hostess said.

Harry turned to look at Draco in disbelief, his eyebrows disappearing under his fringe.

“I pulled  _a lot_ of strings,” Draco admitted. “I hope you like it.”

Harry bit his lip. “I’m sure I will.”

Draco caught the hostess’ small smirk before she turned away to open the door. Once open she stepped inside and gestured for them to follow.

“Come on in, gentlemen. This is yours for the evening, so feel free to make yourselves comfortable.”

Stepping across the threshold, the world was transformed. Draco was immediately aware of pleasant summer air on his skin, followed by the caresses of a soft breeze. The light was the warm but muted light of dusk bouncing off the golden hills in the distance. 

They had walked into a magically recreated balcony of a Tuscan villa. There was a small round table, set already for a multi-course meal, as well as a comfortable looking loveseat off to the side for them to relax and get a full view of the olive orchard below. Draco was taking it all in, quite pleased with his choice, but also watching Harry carefully to gauge his impressions.

The brunet was speechless. He looked around at their cozy balcony first, then walked up to the wooden railing to get a good look at the countryside around them. Draco leaned against one of the brown stone walls for a moment, watching him in silence. The hostess had already slipped away discreetly, and they were alone.

“Draco,” Harry said softly. “This is amazing.”

“I think it turned out well,” Draco said. “It feels real, doesn’t it?”

“Like we’re really there,” said Harry. “How do they do this, I wonder.”

“Very skillful magic,” said Draco. “Apparently the charms masters they keep on staff are some of the best in the world.”

“All so we can feel like we’re eating in… where are we? Somewhere in the Mediterranean.”

“Italy,” Draco told him. “Tuscany, to be precise.” He came to stand next to Harry, close enough that their shoulders brushed against each other.

“Ah, Francesca would be thrilled.”

“She was the inspiration, in a sense,” Draco said. “At least in that I felt I had denied you a Tuscan holiday this summer, and I wanted to make it up to you. I know it’s not exactly the same, but…”

Harry turned to look at him. “You didn’t deny me anything. I was the one who chose to be a prat and refuse her invitation, just to be… Just because I couldn’t bear the thought of being there, with you, and not being…  _with_ you. If that makes any sense.”

“It does. I felt the same way, actually, in the end. I never ended up going.”

“No?”

Draco shook his head. “I didn’t want to go without you.”

Harry took Draco’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you,” he said. “This is a truly wonderful surprise.”

“Good, I’m glad.” His heart was still fluttering a little with nerves, but Draco was finding himself more and more relaxed the longer he spent with Harry. He decided to take that as a good sign.

There was a small rustle of magic behind them, and Draco turned to see that a platter had appeared on the table in front of the loveseat, as well as two glasses of sparkling wine. 

“Looks like our first course has arrived.”

“Already?” Harry followed Draco to the table, accepting a glass of wine as Draco held it out to him.

“I ordered the no-server package. I hope that’s all right.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means there’s no staff waiting on us. The food will appear whenever it seems like we’re ready for the next course. And we can order drinks directly from the list the hostess gave us. I thought spumanti would be nice with the antipasto.” He indicated the plate full of meats, cheeses, and olives. “But you can order anything you like.”

“This is lovely,” Harry said, taking a sip of wine. “I love sparkling wine at the start of a meal.”

“I remember,” said Draco, taking a sip of wine himself. “Shall we dig in?”

After removing their jackets to get more comfortable, they cozied up on the loveseat, chatting idly as they systematically tried a bit of everything and compared their favorites. When a plate of bruschetta arrived not long after, Harry shook his head in disbelief.

“Is this really only the first course? I’m going to be stuffed by the end.”

“It’s all right. We have all night. We don’t have to rush,” Draco told him. “The courses will come whenever we want them to.”

“And no one will barge in on us.”

“That’s right.”

“We’re completely alone.”

“Essentially.” Draco met Harry’s eyes, and it was a little hard to breath. Harry had forgone his glasses yet again for this date, perhaps because he knew the effect those incredible eyes of his had on Draco.

Draco’s hunger must have shown on his face, because Harry looked away first, blushing, reaching for an olive and popping it into his mouth.

He was nervous too, Draco realized. But of course he was. This was unexplored territory for them.

“I know this is different for us,” Draco ventured. “A real date, and everything. But that’s the point, you know. At least for me. I meant it when I said I want to start over with you. I want to do it differently this time, because my intentions are different. My feelings are different, stronger… real.” He felt Harry slip a hand into his and start lightly playing with his fingers. “This, a romantic date, a chance for privacy, this was my idea of how best to start again. But I hope you’ll tell me what you want too. I hope you’ll tell me if there’s something you need.”

“This is what I want,” Harry replied softly. “ _This_. Just… to be with you. And only with you. To be with you as long as you’ll have me. Beyond that… I honestly don’t know what it should look like or how we should do this. It’s all new to me.”

“Relationships?” Draco clarified.

Harry nodded. “And don’t think I haven’t grasped the irony of that,” he said, his tone suddenly dry.

Draco watched him, smiling. “What do you mean?”

“Of the two of us, only you have ever been married or even in a serious relationship. I’ve fallen a bit behind, I’m afraid.”

Draco chuckled. “The student becomes the teacher. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, I was trying to avoid the cliché…”

Draco laughed properly. “I’m hardly an expert. My marriage failed, remember?”

“Yes, but through no fault of your own. Astoria was simply foolish… or selfish, perhaps.”

Draco considered that. “A little of both.”

“So, it was her fault. I’m sure you were a wonderful husband.”

“I tried to be.”

“I know you did.”

Draco took another sip of wine. “I saw her this summer. We ran into each other in Diagon while I was out shopping.”

Harry looked at him. “What did you do?”

“She asked me for coffee. She wanted to talk. I agreed.”

“That was brave of you.”

“Maybe,” Draco said. He thought back to that moment and decided that yes, it had been brave of him. “She had Octavian with her. Her son. Blaise’s son.”

“Draco,” said Harry softly.

“It was all right, actually. I was all right. It was good for me. We talked. She told me that the reason she was unfaithful to me was because she was already in love with Blaise when we got married, but her father wouldn’t let her marry Blaise. He essentially forced her to marry me, the way she tells it. But then she said she fell in love with me anyway. She tried to tell me she  _still_ loves me, in fact.”

Harry gaped at him. “Even now? Was she trying to win you back?”

Draco laughed sardonically. “I don’t know. It didn’t matter. Seeing her again only confirmed just how thoroughly I had moved on. I was able to say what I wanted to say, and then I forgave her. There were no hard feelings when we parted.”

Harry nodded. “That’s really good.”

“It was. It was what I needed, without knowing it.”

They finished off the food mostly in a comfortable silence, only commenting occasionally on the lovely view of the sun setting behind the hills. When the antipasto was gone Harry sat fingering the stem of his empty wine glass, shaking his head when Draco asked if he’d like a refill.

“I’ll wait for the next course, but thanks,” he said, staring down at the glass. Draco waited, knowing there was something Harry wanted to say.

The brunet licked his lips, then took a deep breath. “I need to apologize to you, for the way I acted last week, at the wine shop. I was out of line.”

Draco draped an arm around Harry’s shoulders, looking at him intently. “In what way?”

Harry gave him a look. “Come on. I was a prat. All that bollocks I said about… about Kyle being worth the hassle of coming out, and why couldn’t you do that with me, or whatever it was I said. Acting like you  _owed_ me something. It was wrong.”

“It’s all right, Harry. You were hurt-“

“It’s not all right.” Harry met Draco’s eyes again. “I take that sort of thing very seriously, you know. A person should be able to share something like that with the world in their own time. I never wanted to push you. I understood, when we were together… I understood it when you said you weren’t ready. I respected it.”

“You did. You were very patient with me.”

“You deserved patience,” Harry said. “And I knew that. But I… I walked into that wine shop, and I saw you with him, and then he kissed you, right there, where anyone could-“ He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I couldn’t bear it. I knew I had to say something to you, so you would at least know how I felt. In case there was  _some_ chance that - that you wanted me.”

Draco leaned in and kissed his hair, inhaling his wonderful, familiar scent, but otherwise said nothing.

“But I was also angry,” Harry continued. “ _What does that bloke have I don’t? Why does Draco want him and not me?_ It was all I could think about. So I started us off quite… stupidly. I could have said so much more, about what I felt for you, if I’d just kept my head.”

“It’s all right. You said enough that I understood. I ended things with Kyle not long after that, you know.”

Harry nodded. “Well, I’ve figured that out now. But at the time, after I walked away… Gods, I replayed it over and over in my head. I was so sure I had blown it for good. After I’d judged you like that, about when you chose to come out. And the way I treated Kyle.”

“But you were very polite to him,” argued Draco.

“Really? I don’t remember that. All I remember is doing everything in my power not to hex him into oblivion.”

Draco laughed, and Harry whacked him playfully on the stomach. “It’s not funny,” the brunet said. “He had you, and I didn’t. Plus he was so bloody…  _friendly_. And annoyingly  _not_ ugly at all. And it pissed me off.”

Draco only laughed some more.

“Yes, all right. I know those are hardly things I can actually hold against someone. But I’ve never been jealous like that before. I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

Draco sobered a little and kissed Harry on the side of the head. “I don’t mean to laugh. I’m sorry. It wasn’t funny to me at the time either. I suppose now I can simply be happy that you were jealous, because it meant you finally confronted me about how you felt, and I’m very glad for that.”

“I hadn’t been planning on it. I was going to wait until we’d returned to Hogwarts.”

“Really?” Draco asked. “Why then?”

Harry straightened up, enough that his eyes were level with Draco’s. “Because of what you said, about needing to move on, and then later about needing space. It seemed like you needed time, and I believed you deserved that. You deserved a chance to explore what else was out there. I think that’s an important thing for a person to do. I had hoped that maybe, if you had that chance, you would come back to me, eventually.”

“That’s… incredibly generous of you,” Draco said, completely floored. 

Harry gave him a wry smirk. “I wasn’t feeling so generous at first. At first I let you go simply because you said that was what you wanted, and what could I do? I thought I was… I don’t know, your safety blanket or something. Something you needed for a while but that you just grew out of eventually.”

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Draco said.

“I know. I know that now. But at the time…” He sighed. “You’re not the first person I’ve been with who I ended up helping through a difficult time. It’s just that when those other blokes were ready to move on, it didn’t bother me, because I wasn’t in love with them. But letting you leave…” He stared down at his hands, which were shaking a little. Draco took them in his. “That was different. I was pretty sure I loved you. I knew I wanted to be with you, at least, in a real way, a serious way. And the more time I had away from you, the more I realized that I  _was_ in love with you. And that’s when I decided that I would give you time, give us both time, to think it over. And when the school year resumed I was going to ask you if you wanted to try again. I was going to tell you how I felt and see if you could possibly feel the same for me.”

Draco was grinning, unable to help it. Harry had just admitted to being in love with him, and though Draco had surmised it before, it was the first time he’d actually heard Harry say the words. He felt a rush in his chest that was impossible to suppress, and it took him a moment to recover.

“So what changed your mind?” he asked eventually. “What made you decide to confront me at the wine shop, instead of waiting?”

“Seeing you with another man,” Harry answered simply. “I had no idea it would hurt so much.”

Draco’s grin faltered, his grip on Harry’s hands tightening in remorse. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, Draco. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I loved you and I walked away.”

“I loved you and I let you walk away,” Harry countered.

Draco shook his head. “I was with other people. Other men. You waited for me. You were  _waiting_ for me…”

“Yes, I was waiting. Because I’d already had seven years to explore and date around and look for what I wanted. And I’d finally found it. So there wasn’t much point in simply filling a void until I could be with you again. I had no interest in that. But you… you needed to explore. I believe that.”

Draco swallowed, not saying anything. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. It seemed unfair to Harry. And yet it was what Harry believed. Perhaps it was how Harry coped with knowing Draco was with other people. And who was he to deny Harry that?

“I’m glad you didn’t wait to tell me,” he said.

“I couldn’t. Especially after hearing you refer to Kyle as your…  _boyfriend_. You made it sound like it could become serious. And I couldn’t let that happen without at least making sure you knew you had options. If you chose him… I would have lived with it. But at least you would have known the truth.”

“Very Gryffindor of you.”

Harry shrugged. “I have my moments. But I have a Slytherin side too, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Draco said with a smile. “I’ve seen it in action.”

“And you have a Gryffindor side, apparently,” Harry teased. “Showing up at my door my a box of my favorite sweets to declare your love for me? I don’t think it gets much more Gryffindor than that.”

“Slytherins can be romantic, too,” Draco grumbled, pretending to be annoyed. But the wide smile he couldn’t suppress gave him away, as did the pleased flush he could feel warming his cheeks. Harry nudged him lightly in the ribs with his elbow.

“Look,” said the brunet. “Our second course is here.”

Draco followed Harry’s line of sight to find that yes, two plates of pasta and a basket of bread had appeared, on the dining table this time. 

“Well, I suppose we’re ready for it, then?”

Harry nodded and took Draco’s hand again, and they stood together.

Draco insisted Harry take the seat with the best view, though the light was already fading. Lamps had already lit themselves, giving the balcony a romantic glow. He ordered them each a glass of pinot grigio, which appeared instantaneously, and they dug into their linguine with relish.

“Francesca will be jealous we’re enjoying a meal like this without her,” Harry remarked after a few minutes.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Draco. “I think she’ll just be thrilled to hear we’re enjoying it together.”

“True. She was none too happy with me after… you know, the split. Probably because I was being such an arse. But also because she was worried about me, I think.”

“Same here. She didn’t understand how I could have ended it, given the way I felt about you. She knew how I felt better than I knew myself. Though I managed to convince her to leave me alone about it.”

“Well, that’s because you’re cleverer than I am,” said Harry. “Me, I just avoided her.”

“Yes, she mentioned that.”

Harry stared down at his plate, looking guilty. “I owe her an apology. Many, in all likelihood.”

“Have you not been writing with her this summer?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I’ve been very… self-contained, you could say, for the past few months. Not that I  _haven’t_ spent time with friends. I’ve just spent more time… I don’t know, brooding, pouring all of my energy into my renovations. And flying a lot with Teddy, which was good. Got me out of the house, at least.”

Draco nodded and tore of a piece of bread to dip in the small dish of olive oil between them. There was no need for him to expound upon his own summer activities. His time with other men was hardly what either of them wanted to spend their date talking about.

“Well, I’m sure she’d love to hear from you,” he said finally. “I don’t think she will be too angry. She’s a very forgiving woman, it turns out. I’ve done a few things I’m not proud of with regards to her, and she has been very patient with me.”

“Yes, but she’s a little bit in love with you,” said Harry. “So she gives you a lot of leeway. Not that I blame her.” He gave Draco a wink and took another sip of his drink.

Draco rolled his eyes. “She’s well over me by now. I’m sure, with Longbottom with her at her villa as we speak, she’s forgotten all about me.”

Harry grinned widely, looking both pleased and surprised. “Neville went to visit her? I had no idea. Well,  _this_ is an interesting development.”

Draco smirked behind his glass of water. “I assume you want the details?”

“Of course.”

They finished off their second course in conversation about their two friends, Draco first filling Harry in on what he had learned through Francesca’s letters, followed by both of them speculating on what would happen next and if the two of them would work out in the end. 

By the time their third course had arrived – a tender roast chicken with panzanella and summer vegetables – they had started catching each other up on the other important people in their lives. Draco told Harry all about Pansy’s meddling and eventually her sound advice on how to best reconcile with Harry, and Harry told Draco of Teddy’s love of all things Quidditch, as well as how Granger and Weasley were coping with their two-month-old daughter.

“Ron’s talking about retirement from the Corps.”

“Really. That surprises me. You always made it sound like he loves it.”

“He does. He did. I don’t know. He’s had eight years of it now, and that’s a long time. We’re not kids anymore, and he knows that. I guess in some ways Rose has finally made him face the fact that he’s not immortal, and he’s starting to think he’s done enough dangerous work for a lifetime. Plus they didn’t give him paternity leave or anything, and his schedule is making it hard to be a parent. He wants better for Rose, and for Hermione.”

“I can understand that,” said Draco. “But there are other ways to work in law enforcement that don’t involve being in the field. Administration, instruction...”

“He’s considering that too,” said Harry. “If there’s an opening and he can get the post. They  _should_ let him have whatever he wants. He’s done so much for the Corps already, so they owe him. But that stuff’s more based on politics than merit, and… I don’t know. It’s a lot of paperwork, and Ron never much liked paperwork.”

Draco laughed. “Yes, I remember that from school. Lazy sod, he was.”

“Oi, be nice. That’s my best mate you’re talking about,” Harry said, still smiling. “Besides, if you’re going to call him a lazy sod, you’d have to call me one as well. I had the same bad study habits he did.”

“Maybe, but you had an evil megalomaniac to vanquish. I think that gives you a pass.”

“Ron had a big hand in me defeating Voldemort,” Harry reminded him. “As did Hermione, of course. So let’s not pretend I did it alone.”

Harry’s tone was still plenty playful, but Draco could tell this was territory in which it was best for him not to argue. And he also knew that if this relationship with Harry was going to move forward, it was inevitable that he would have to get along with Harry’s closest friends. It was a bizarre thought, the idea of socializing with the likes of Weasley, but for Harry, he would find some way to do it, and do it well.

“You’re right. I don’t have a leg to stand on in this argument,” he said.

Harry’s hands danced along the edge of Draco’s fringe a moment, the lamplight reflected in his soft gaze. “You had a hand in Voldemort’s defeat as well, let’s not forget.”

“Everyone played their part, for better or for worse,” Draco said. He snatched Harry’s hand and kissed his fingertips. He wasn’t sure how ready he was to have this particular conversation. He knew they would have it someday, and probably someday soon. There was a lot to sort through in their long and complicated history. And they would get there. But tonight, tonight was about something else.

Harry seemed to sense this too, because he steered the conversation back to Granger and the Weasleys. By the time their dessert course arrived they were ready to go back to the loveseat. They ate slowly and sipped on coffee, enjoying the way the night felt alive around them, and yet how they were still blissfully alone.

“I’m stuffed,” Harry said with a groan, pushing his plate of tiramisu away from him. “I can’t eat another bite, I swear.”

“Nor can I,” Draco agreed. Even though they had eaten it all over the course of a whole evening, it had still been a lot of food, and he was feeling sluggish.

“I think I’m about to go into a food coma.”

Draco laughed. “I’ll do my best to revive you if it comes to that.”

“Do you think this place does overnights? Because I wouldn’t mind just passing out right here, honestly.”

“Sadly, no. They will eventually make us leave.”

“How long do we have?”

Draco looked at his watch. “Not quite an hour.”

“Oh,” said Harry, sounding pleasantly surprised. “Plenty of time for a kip, then.”

Draco chuckled in disbelief as Harry rearranged himself, placing his head in Draco’s lap while the rest of him lay across the loveseat with his feet hanging over the edge.

“Comfortable?” he asked Harry sardonically.

“Yes, actually. Surprisingly so.” He shifted until he had his head where he wanted it, his eyes already closed.

“So I’ll just wake you in an hour, shall I?”

“Mm, perfect,” Harry replied, a hint of a wry smile on his lips.

It  _was_ perfect, actually. They were quiet, nothing but the chirping of unseen insects to be heard in the dark. They were both pleasantly warm and full of food, and the lamps were burning just brightly enough that Draco could catch each exquisite contour of Harry’s face. He traced them with a finger, beginning in the middle of his brow and down his nose, traveling across a cheek and then to one of Harry’s ears. His fingers shook a little as his index followed the lines of the faded lightning bolt scar, possibly the only scar of Harry’s that he had never touched. He’d been strangely afraid to, as if calling attention to it would remind Harry of who Draco was, of who he had been. But that was laughable, really. Harry had never for a moment forgotten who Draco was, and he had chosen Draco anyway.

He loved Draco anyway.

Swallowing against a sudden tightness in his throat, Draco let his fingers wander again, following Harry’s hairline down past his ear and to his jaw, where he lingered, feeling the strong edge of bone encased in smooth flesh. Then it was to his prominent chin and the smallest hint of a cleft there. And then, finally, to Harry’s miraculous lips, plump and soft. Those lips had done and said so many wonderful things to Draco that it was impossible to remember it all.

Harry smiled against his fingers, his eyes still closed. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Draco answered honestly. “This.”

Harry hummed and kissed the pad of Draco’s thumb.

“What are  _you_ thinking about?” Draco asked him.

Harry opened his eyes languidly, and they found Draco’s. “Something David told me at the start of the summer.”

Draco tilted his head, watching Harry’s mouth move, feeling a bit hypnotized. “What was that?”

“How you ripped him and Paul a new one for not making more of an effort to get to know me properly.”

Draco paused in the stroking of Harry’s hair. “They told you about that?”

“Yes. They admitted that they were remarking on that to you, on how difficult I am to get to know, and they said you defended me. Quite passionately, actually.”

“Oh.”

“They reached out to me, the both of them, right after I returned to Grimmauld for the summer. They said they wanted to spend more time with me. We got to talking, about you, mostly, and how you… weren’t around anymore. And David said he was shocked, because you were so defensive of me. Loyal. It was clear how much you cared.”

Draco licked his lips, trying to sort out why Harry was bringing this up. “I wasn’t sure if I had said the right thing at the time. I worried I said too much, that maybe I had interfered in your friendships in a way you didn’t want me to. If I did, I’m sorry for that.”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “That’s not it at all. I’m… glad you said those things. Because it broke through a barrier between David, Paul, and me, and because hearing it… gave me hope. That maybe you did… care for me.”

“Of course I did,” Draco said softly, resuming the movements of his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I do.”

“It made it easier to wait, hearing that.”

“Mm,” was Draco’s only reply.

“Does it bother you that I talked about you to them? I wanted someone to talk to, you know, and I couldn’t say anything to Ron and Hermione, because you and I had agreed that we would remain a secret. But I figured Paul and David are Muggles, and they already knew that we were together. So what was the harm?”

“No, I don’t mind,” said Draco. “I just wish I had been a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

Harry smirked. “You would have enjoyed yourself. I was quite… well, you could say I was pining, a bit.”

Draco smiled down at him. “Is that so?”

“Yes, and they could see it. They could see it easily. And they helped me, talked me through it, helped me get perspective…” His smirk widened, suddenly full of chagrin. “And David called me out, too.”

“How so?”

“I believe his exact words were… ‘Maybe this is good for you. Because now you know how it feels.’”

Draco thought that over, his fingers still playing in Harry’s soft, dark tendrils. “He was talking about the other men you’ve been with? The ones that developed feelings?”

Harry nodded. “He pointed out that I could see the other side of it, finally.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Harry met Draco’s eyes again. “I think it was what I needed to hear, actually. It might have been some tough love, but that’s not always a bad thing. I’ve gone my whole adult life thinking that as long as I’m up front about my intentions and what I want, there’s no way I could hurt anyone. Because of course they would be up front also. And they wouldn’t dare to start feeling things they know they aren’t supposed to feel.” He took one of Draco’s hands in both his own and started playing with his fingers. “I thought I could do what I wanted and not have any consequences from it. But that’s because I wasn’t thinking about the fact that sometimes people have feelings they don’t  _want_ to have, that they know they’re not supposed to have. And they can’t help it.”

“Yeah, maybe. But that’s on them, not you. You didn’t actually do anything wrong,” Draco argued.

Harry considered that. “Maybe I didn’t do anything  _wrong,_ in a strict sense. But I did still hurt people, whether I intended to or not. And I think it’s important that I care about that. I think it’s important I feel sorry for that.”

Draco immediately thought of Kyle. There was someone who he had cared about, who he had never intended to hurt. But he had hurt him anyway, and he was very sorry for it.

“I know what you mean, actually,” he said.

Harry stared up at him for a moment or two. “You make me a better person. A more thoughtful person. You push me out of all of my old habits. That’s one of the reasons I love being with you so much.”

Draco smiled softly. “You make me better too.”

A soft bell sounded.

“What’s that?”

“We have five minutes before they come to retrieve us.”

Harry actually pouted, which, given his sleepy state, was rather adorable. “I don’t want to leave. This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”

“Same here,” agreed Draco. “But it has to end sometime.”

“I suppose we’ll just plan another one.”

“I suppose we will. I’d like to come to this place again, choose a different destination. We could go all over the world.”

“True,” said Harry. “Or we could  _actually_ travel all over the world together if we wanted. What are summer holidays for, after all?”

Draco laughed. “You’re right. I was thinking we should take Francesca up on her offer of a Tuscan holiday next year, if we can. Experience the real thing.”

Harry beamed at him. “I’d like that.”

After some finagling Draco convinced Harry to sit up, and they both had a chance to visit the private loo before the hostess came to collect them. They walked out of the restaurant hand in hand, and Draco couldn’t help but notice the deep well of happiness that had pooled in his gut. The date had been a success.

And this was only the beginning.

He Apparated Harry home, and suddenly they were standing on the front stoop of Number 12 again, ending where they had begun.

“Would you like to come inside?” Harry asked, biting his lip.

It was quite a tempting invitation to say the least. In truth, Draco didn’t want to walk away from Harry just yet. But he also knew it was an invitation he couldn’t accept, not right away.

“Not yet,” he said. “As much as I may want to.”

“You said that last time I asked,” Harry observed, watching Draco carefully. “Can I ask… what’s stopping you?”

Draco smirked. “It’s that I know exactly what would happen if I walked through that door. I know from experience. I can picture it, step by step. I know you. Every inch of you. And I wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Harry, his eyes flitting to Draco’s mouth.

“It’s not a bad thing. It’s a wonderful thing, in fact. But just… not yet. I think we need more time.”

Harry absorbed that, tilting his head. “You want to wait.”

“Yes, for a little while. Not forever, obviously. But for a little while. I want to give us a chance to get our bearings as a couple. As a serious couple. I want to give us a chance to do other things together, to not let sex be our default position, if that makes any sense. Our default activity.”

“Hm,” said Harry. “That’s in interesting way to put it.” He didn’t seem upset, merely thoughtful, but Draco felt a need to explain more anyway.

“I just think that we spent so much time in bed the first time around, in a way we used that as our way of communicating, of expressing our feelings. And yet we didn’t actually do such a good job of communicating, did we? We were never really willing to say what we were feeling aloud. We let our bodies do the talking for us, and while I think that can be… nice, sometimes, it’s not what I want right now. I want us to actually talk. I want us to be honest and figure out what this is and what we want and… I want us to do it without sex, for the time being. I know it’s a lot to ask-“

“It’s not,” said Harry. “I understand what you mean. And I think you’re right. Obviously I…” He trailed off, his face breaking into an involuntary grin before he stifled it. “I want to be with you in  _every_ way… eventually.”

“Of course.”

“But if you need us to wait a little while, then I can do that. I’ve gone three months without it. I can go longer.”

“Wow, three whole months without a shag. You’re a marvel to us all, Harry Potter,” Draco said drily.

Harry shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Prat,” he said.

Draco grinned. “Tosser,” he replied, shoving him back, but letting his hand linger on Harry’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

Harry laughed. “You better believe it. My hand and I have become very intimately acquainted recently.”

“I can imagine.”

“Oh, I hope you do,” Harry quipped cheekily. 

“You’re a shameless flirt, you know,” Draco accused.

“Yes, but only with you now, I promise.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Harry’s expression sobered. “Only you. I mean it.” A hand reached up to cup Draco’s cheek.

“I know you do.”

“I’m serious about this, Draco. You want to know what I want? I want a life with you. A whole life, whatever we want to make it. I’m all in.”

Draco put a hand on Harry’s chest. “Me too,” he said. “All in.”

“Good.” They stayed that way, neither speaking, until Harry swallowed loudly and asked. “So, do I get a goodnight kiss, at least? Or do I have to wait on that too?”

“I think a kiss would be acceptable,” Draco murmured, realizing, for the first time, that they hadn’t even kissed yet. Everything about the evening had felt so intimate that it was hard to believe. But now… he wanted nothing more. He leaned forward, nuzzling Harry’s nose with his.

Harry tilted his chin up, letting their lips brush together. Draco let out a soft breath, and Harry a small whimper, and they both pressed forward.

Their lips knew each other, and they slid together easily, naturally, as if they had spent no time apart at all. It was sweet, almost chaste, at least until Harry opened his mouth a little, and Draco got his first taste of Harry’s tongue in months. He moaned, unable to help it, and slipped his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Harry welcomed him fully, clutching Draco to him with greedy hands.

“Gods, I missed you,” Draco breathed as Harry’s mouth descended to his neck. “I missed you so much, Harry.”

“Draco,” Harry moaned. His lips were everywhere, consuming every bit of Draco he could reach. He returned to Draco’s mouth, getting his fill before pulling away enough to say. “I love you.” He kissed Draco again. “I love you.”

Draco’s entire body clenched in pleasure at those words, and he knew they were in dangerous territory. If they didn’t stop now, they wouldn’t be able to stop at all. He slowed down the pace, getting in a few more light kisses before pulling away.

Both men stared at each other, Harry looking so thoroughly debauched and aroused that it took all of Draco’s willpower not to start things up again. 

“When can I see you next?” he asked, to distract himself.

“Whenever you want,” Harry told him, still panting a bit.

“Well,” Draco said, finally getting ahold of himself and pulling away a couple more inches. “Your birthday is in two days.”

Harry went still. “That’s true.”

“I know you… I mean, I’m sure you have plans,” Draco said. “But I’d still love to see you, if I could.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I mean… I’m spending most of the day with Teddy. We’re having lunch and then going to a Quidditch match. And then the Weasleys are throwing me a party that evening. I would love for you to be there, but it’s going to be… you know… everyone. Not just the family, but a bunch of other Gryffindors and old friends from Hogwarts.”

“Right,” Draco said, understanding.

“Don’t get me wrong, I want to show you off,” Harry said with a wry smile. “But… it might feel like a lot, to ‘meet’ everyone all at once like that, as my… boyfriend, or lover, or… partner, or whatever.”

Draco laughed. “As all those things.”

“Yes. I want you to meet everyone eventually, but…”

“No, you’re right. It would be too much for me, I think. So maybe I could see you the next day, then, and we can celebrate together.”

Harry hesitated. “I’d really like to see you on the day, though. You could… if you wanted, you could have lunch with Teddy and me. It’s not ideal, but-“

“I wouldn’t want to encroach on your time with him,” Draco said.

“We’re just having a picnic in the park,” said Harry. “He won’t mind. He’ll probably spend most of his time on the playground anyway. Besides, he’s been very interested in meeting this cousin of his that he didn’t even know he had.”

Draco stared at him in surprise. “You told him about me?”

Harry blushed. “I may have mentioned you once or twice. And he wants to meet you. My birthday’s as good a time as any. We’ll have lunch the three of us and then I’ll take Teddy to the match afterward. What do you think?”

“That sounds nice,” said Draco.

“Great. Meet here around 11?”

“All right.” He ran a hand over Harry’s cheek. “I should go.”

Harry smiled wanly. “If you have to.”

“If I don’t go now, I’ll never leave.”

“That would suit me just fine.”

Draco chuckled. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They grinned at each other. Draco allowed himself one last peck to Harry’s lips before he stepped away, turning on the spot and Disapparating.

***

_Dear Mother,_

_The trip south sounds lovely. If memory serves, we visited Cassis once when I was small, did we not? I remember the winding coastline and the turquoise water. I hope your friend’s villa will be to your liking. Do tell me all about it when you arrive._

_That is, so long as you still have it in you to write after you read what I have to say next. I have turned it over and over again in my mind, and it is hard to imagine a scenario in which you and Father will not be shocked, perhaps even angry. There was a time, in fact, when this alone would have prevented me from telling you at all. But things have changed a great deal in the past few days, and it has now become imperative that I tell you the truth before you inevitably hear it from other sources._

_The news I have is not unhappy. In fact, I am quite happy about it. I think I am happier than I have ever been in my whole life. You, however, might have a hard time understanding why. I suppose I should begin at the beginning._

_I was still suffering a great deal of heartbreak when I began my professorship at Hogwarts this past year. I’m sure you were able to garner that from my letters alone. It was a struggle to come to terms with what happened, but, in a way, this struggle was a blessing, because it forced me to self-examine to an extent I have never been willing to in the past. And I discovered something about myself that has changed the very course of my life. I discovered that I am attracted to, and in fact capable of falling in love with, men._

_Yes, you read that right. I love both women and men. I have my whole life, it is clear to me now, even though I never let myself explore one half of my sexuality when I was younger. I was to marry a woman you chose for me, and a pureblood at that, and I was at your mercy because I had not yet inherited. It seemed pointless to explore, so much so that I denied that side of me even existed._

_But my divorce set me free, and I used that freedom to see what other possibilities were out there for me. I will spare you the details, as I am certain you have no interest in hearing them, except to say that my experiences were comprehensive enough that I now have a thorough understanding of my preferences. I have also fallen in love, more deeply than I thought possible._

_Before I tell you who he is, I want to make some things clear: yes, I am absolutely certain, no, this is not a phase that will pass, and no, this is not – though I am sure he will insist it is so anyway – something I am doing simply to spite Father. It is permanent and it is real, and it actually has very little to do with you or Father, in the end. It is simply who I am, and there is nothing either of you could say or do that will change this about me. It’s very, very important that you realize that, for all our sakes._

_And now to the reality that may be most difficult of all for you to swallow: the man I am in love with is Harry Potter. It happened slowly, so slowly I barely noticed it, and the choice to be with him and be out to the world was one I thought long and hard about. So it is with great clarity of mind that I choose to be with him now. It is not a decision I made lightly. But it is the decision I’m making. I know better than anyone that there are few certainties in this world, but I truly believe that in choosing to build a life with Harry I am choosing a life of happiness. I truly believe that this relationship is the best thing for me._

_This is neither a letter of goodbye nor a letter of apology. It is simply intended to inform you of this decision, mostly because I believe it is important now that you know, and also because you are bound to read about it in the papers soon, or hear about it from one of your connections still living here in Britain. It is hardly a secret, and I did not want to keep it from you. I have every intention of remaining your son, if you will have me, and I have every intention to still love you as my parents. But I also have every intention of loving Harry for the rest of my life. My hope is that these two things can be reconciled. Whether or not they can is solely up to you and whether you choose to accept this, and accept me. If you cannot, that is your choice. I will find a way to live with it. I have no doubt Harry will help me through it._

_But know that I hope with all my heart that you can find a way to accept it. Having you in my life means a great deal to me. Never doubt that. I love you._

_Your son,_

_Draco_

***

Draco did not sleep much the night before Harry’s birthday. He’d sent off the letter to his mother the afternoon before, having spent most of the day composing and rewriting it until it said everything he wanted it to say. After his owl had flown off with said letter attached to its leg, Draco had found himself unable to sit still. There was no going back now. He’d taken the most difficult step of this entire endeavor and he had no idea what would come of it. He found it nearly unbearable waiting for the result.

He floo called Harry. He’d promised himself earlier that morning he wouldn’t, if only because the rekindling of their relationship was new and he though it important that they not overdo it. But after he sent the letter off he realized he could not keep it to himself. And the person he would always want to share something with first and foremost was Harry. So he gave in.

Harry was home and happy to talk with him. They both sat in front of their respective hearths, and Draco told Harry about his fears and anxieties, about the reaction he was sure to receive, and his uncertainties about how he would feel afterwards. Harry listened, talking very little, and Draco found that was what he needed. When Harry asked if he could hear the letter, Draco read to him from the copy he had made, blushing all the while.

“It’s beautiful, Draco,” Harry said softly. “I’m so proud of you.”

Draco felt better after that. He knew, whatever happened, that he had Harry by his side to help him through it. And more than that, as Harry himself pointed out. He had Pansy, Francesca, his other Slytherin friends, and the entire staff of Hogwarts, if he needed it. They were all in his corner. They all loved him.

He had a community. And whatever happened, he would not be left to deal with the aftermath of this alone.

Still, he found it difficult to sleep. He knew it was unreasonable to expect a reply as early as the following morning. His parents had to receive the letter first. Then they needed to react to it. Still, he felt a little ill as he ate a meager breakfast and waited for the owl post that morning. Nothing came. He would have to wait another day, probably.

Thankfully he had a picnic with Harry and Teddy to distract him. He dressed casually in jeans and a linen shirt, ready for the wonderfully warm weather. From his nightstand he picked up the box that contained Harry’s birthday present, and he shrank it and put it in his jeans pocket, his heart skipping a beat in his chest. He had no idea how Harry would receive the gift. Hopefully he would love it. Or he might think it was too much. It was a risk, to be sure.

But Draco was rather about taking risks lately, and when it came to Harry he knew he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

 _I’m all in,_ Harry had said to him. Draco had promised he was too. And he had meant it.

When he arrived at Grimmauld Place by floo, he immediately heard Harry’s voice, shouting good-naturedly down the hall.

“-under the bed, then!” Harry was saying. “Hurry up! Draco will be here any minute!”

Draco stepped out of the front parlor and into the hall, spotting Harry by the stairs.

“Draco’s already here, actually,” he said.

Harry turned to him with a wide smile. “Yes, he is.” He approached, hesitated, then, when Draco nodded, gave him a kiss on the mouth in greeting. “Hello,” he said softly, almost shyly.

“Hi,” said Draco. “Happy birthday.” He kissed Harry again.

“Thanks. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

“Teddy’s nearly ready. He’s misplaced his favorite trainers, apparently, and he’s looking for them.”

“Ah,” said Draco. “Do we need to help him?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll manage.” He stepped even closer, their bodies only a few inches apart now. “It’s so good to see you.” His hands found Draco’s waist, and Draco’s own hands drifted naturally to Harry’s elbows, holding him in place. “I feel spoiled getting to see you four days in a row. After… going so long without you.”

Draco smiled softly at him. “You’ll have to get used to it, I suppose.”

Harry leaned in, his eyes hooded and focused on Draco’s mouth. “Planning to stick around for a while then, are you?”

“Hmmm… I’m considering it, at least,” Draco replied with faux nonchalance.

Harry knew better, of course. After the past few days, the things that were said, and the letter Draco had sent only the day before, there was no question. Draco had made his choice.

Harry kissed him tenderly, and Draco’s hands snuck around to Harry’s back, bringing him closer.

Stomping on the stairs and a boy’s voice calling, “I found them!” had them separating, albeit reluctantly. Draco discreetly wiped his mouth and saw Harry do the same before turning back towards the stairs. 

Teddy had stopped on the penultimate step, clutching a pair of blue and white trainers by the laces. He had turquoise hair, warm brown eyes, and a curious smile.

“Under your bed?” Harry asked.

He looked at Harry sheepishly. “Yeah.”

Harry smirked. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Teddy’s smile widened. “Yes.”

Harry ruffled the boy’s bright hair, then placed his hand gently on his back. “Teddy, this is my friend, your cousin, Draco Malfoy.”

“Hi, Teddy,” Draco said, holding out a hand. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Teddy shook it, his hand warm and small in Draco’s own. “Hi,” he said. “Do you like Quidditch?”

“I love Quidditch,” Draco replied. “I played Seeker in school, for my house team.”

Teddy looked at his godfather. “Against Harry?”

Draco laughed sardonically. “Many times. He always beat me, though.” Even just a year ago it would have been painful to admit this. But now, now it didn’t matter.

“Well, he  _is_ the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever had. Uncle Ron told me so.”

“Well, if Uncle Ron said it, it must be true,” Draco replied with a sly look at Harry, who rolled his eyes.

“Come on, then. Get your trainers on,” Harry said to his godson. “Plenty of time to talk Quidditch on our way to the park.”

“’Kay,” said Teddy, plopping down on the stairs and doing as he was told.

“I’ll get the picnic basket,” Harry said, making his way in the direction of the kitchen. “And then we can head out.”

“Sounds good,” Draco said after him, sparing a moment to watch the brunet appreciatively as he walked away.

“So, what’s your team?” Teddy asked, getting Draco’s attention once again.

Draco grinned. “The Falmouth Falcons.”

Teddy nodded, lacing up one trainer very carefully before starting on the other. “They’re pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” Draco said incredulously. “They have Sabrina Warton. She’s the best Chaser in England.”

“In  _England_ , maybe,” said Teddy, standing up. “But the Holyhead Harpies have Ginny Weasley, and she’s the best Chaser in all of the UK.”

“That’s debatable,” said Draco. “Hiram Aranoff is pretty impressive too.”

“From the Magpies?” Teddy said, making a face. “No way.”

“Way. He’s on the short list for the international team next Cup round, so I hear.”

“That stuff’s really political anyway.”

Draco had to laugh. It was a strange phrase to hear coming out of an eight-year-old’s mouth.

“Did Ginny Weasley tell you that?”

“Yeah. So?”

“So…” Draco shrugged. He turned to see that Harry as making his way down the hall towards them, basket in hand. “She might be a little upset that she didn’t make the international team this year. That’s all I’m saying.”

“She was on the short list too. But they went with Connery.”

“That’s what I heard. I don’t really understand it. He never seemed like that great a flyer to me.”

“I know, right?”

Harry managed to finagle them out of the house, mostly through physical coercion, and they made their way out of the wards and down the street, Teddy still chatting to Draco all the while.

“We’re going to see a Holyhead Harpies match today for Harry’s birthday, you know.”

“I heard,” said Draco.

“They’re playing the Wasps. The Harpies are going to  _crush_ them. I can’t wait.”

Harry chuckled. “We’ll see.”

“The Harpies are the best,” Teddy said to his godfather incredulously. “You say so all the time.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” admitted Harry.

Teddy turned back to Draco. “We  _know_ Ginny Weasley, you know. We have Christmas with her every year. And sometimes I see her other times, when she’s not traveling.”

“I did know that, actually,” said Draco.

“She’s really cool. On my birthday last year we went to a Harpies match and they won, and Ginny got the Harpies Seeker – that’s Malcolm Sellers, he’s  _really_ good – she got him to give me the Snitch he caught! Gave it to me as a birthday present.”

“That was very kind of them.”

“Yeah. It’s in my room at my Gran’s house. Not in my room at Harry’s house because I live with my Gran most of the time.”

“Mm.”

“Harry told me that my Gran and your mum are sisters.”

“That’s true. They are.”

“So do you know my Gran?”

“Not as well as I’d like. I saw her more when I was small. Smaller than you. But I’d love to see her again.”

“Oh. Well I’m sure that will happen. Harry says that you are going to be around a lot, so you’ll probably see her a lot too, don’t worry.”

Draco exchanged a look with Harry, who was a bit flushed.

“Well, Harry’s right about that.”

They arrived at the park, a small but well-kept patch of nature with a lovely green lawn shaded by a few trees and a playground where children were climbing about, swinging fearlessly, or running after each other.

“Can I?” Teddy turned to Harry, his gaze hopeful.

“Go on,” said Harry. “Draco and I will set up over there and you can join us when you get hungry.”

Teddy ran off to the playground without looking back.

“He’s an active kid,” said Harry. “Never turns down a chance to climb on something.”

“He’s really great,” Draco said, following Harry to the lawn. “Very outgoing.”

Harry smiled wryly as he unfolded the blanket he’d brought. “Oh, he’s outgoing all right.”

Draco turned to watch Teddy by the jungle gym. He’d already introduced himself to a few of the kids and was playing with them. When he looked back at Harry he found the brunet already sitting down on the blanket. Harry patted the spot next to him, and Draco sat as well.

“It’s obvious you’re doing a great job with him.”

Harry looked at Draco almost sadly. “I can’t take a lot of the credit. It’s mostly Andromeda. Being at Hogwarts makes it hard to be there for him most of the time.”

“He seems very comfortable with you, though. It’s obvious that he likes spending time with you.”

“I try to make up for it in the summer,” said Harry. “I see him a few times a week.”

“That’s great.”

“I’m really looking forward to three years from now, when he comes to Hogwarts. Then I can see him all the time. Keep an eye on him, like I promised his mum and dad.”

Draco nodded. “That will be nice.” He took Harry’s hand, and they sat in silence for a minute or two, watching Teddy play.

Draco thought about the box in his pocket, wondering if this would be the right moment to give it to Harry. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but it seemed like the sort of thing that would be best to give when it was just the two of them. And he wasn’t sure how much time they would have before Teddy decided he was hungry and returned to them.

“I got you something,” Harry said suddenly. 

Draco went still, thrown by that, because he was about to mention the same thing. “What?”

Harry reached over to the picnic basket and took out a small, wrapped package the size of his palm. He held it out to Draco.

Draco took it, noting the cheerful red and blue paper and the neatly tied bow. “Harry,” he said, giving him a look. “It’s  _your_ birthday.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Is this a thing, you giving people gifts on your birthday instead of the other way around?” Now that he thought about it, it seemed just the sort of thing Harry would do.

“Not usually,” said Harry. “I like getting presents. But I missed your birthday, you know. So I’m making up for it now.”

Draco kept eyeing him, but Harry’s eager face impelled him to open the gift anyway. The paper came away to reveal a black velvet box, and Draco lifted the lid.

Inside was a pair of cufflinks, oval in shape with flat faces, featuring inlaid designs made with intertwining shapes of silver and gold. Or, when he looked more closely at the small description, white gold and yellow gold. The design on each was different, and Draco traced the one on the left with a soft finger. It was a dragon. The other was a stag.

“You and me,” he said.

“I realized when I ordered them that I didn’t know your Patronus,” said Harry, his cheeks a bit pink. “But then I realized I could just use the creatures from the paper figures I made, and that would work just as well, to represent us. Do you like them?”

“They’re lovely.” And they were. Lovely, and masculine, and finely made. 

“I know you don’t have much reason to wear them at Hogwarts,” said Harry quickly. “But, I figured, they go nicely with pretty much any dress robes, and Muggle shirts as well, when you want to wear a suit.”

“I love them, Harry,” Draco said. “They’re perfect.”

“Ok… well… good.”

“But how did you find… or did you custom order them? How did they fill the order so fast?” They’d only been officially back together for a couple of days. That was an impossibly quick turn-around, even for the Great Harry Potter.

Harry’s face reddened further. “I’ve… had them for a while, actually. I ordered them back in March.”

“In March.”

“When I left Hogwarts for Hermione’s baby shower, you remember?” 

Draco did. Harry had spent the whole of a Saturday off the grounds to celebrate the impending birth of baby Rose. Draco had spent the afternoon in Hogsmeade with Francesca, pretending he didn’t miss Harry the entire time.

“Well, I also popped into my favorite jewelers in Diagon to have these made. I was going to give them to you on your actual birthday, but…” He shrugged.

Draco lowered his eyes in regret and shame. “But I ended it,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Harry agreed. “And then I didn’t know what to do. I thought about giving them to you anyway. I wrestled back and forth about it for months. I thought you ought to have them, at least to remember – to remember us. But I didn’t know if you wanted to. I didn’t know if it meant the same to you as it did to me.”

 _It meant so much to me Harry_ , he wanted to say, but couldn’t find his voice. And Harry was still talking.

“And the bravest part of me wanted to send them to you to show you… to finally tell you how I felt. I composed a letter in my head and everything, waxing poetic about how you and I…” He chuckled, somewhat sardonically. “About how you and I belonged together.”

Draco took a shaky breath and met Harry’s eyes. They were soft and clear, and full of an emotion Draco couldn’t quite name. There was love and happiness there, but also something that might have been chagrin.

“But, in the end, I decided not to. I decided to wait, to see what would happen when we returned to Hogwarts. And I suppose a part of me was afraid you would just think it was stupid or something.”

“Never,” Draco whispered. “I never would have thought it was stupid.” He tried to imagine what it would have been like, to receive this gift by owl, to receive an accompanying letter that laid out all of Harry’s feelings. What would it have changed? Would he have come to his senses sooner, knowing sooner how Harry felt? Could he have avoided hurting Kyle?

But then he remembered how far he had come from so many other things in the past couple of years, and he realized he wouldn’t really be himself, as he was now,  _here_ with Harry like this, without every piece of it. He had learned just the right things along the way at the right moments, to be able to be here now. And what could he do but accept that? It couldn't be any other way, even if it meant he had made some mistakes. He just had to find a way to make his mistakes right, when he could.

“Thank you, Harry. I love them. They’re perfect.” He leaned over, tugging Harry gently by the shirt to bring him closer. Their lips met softly, Draco wanting to keep the kiss tender and sweet.

Harry was grinning when they pulled apart, and his eyes flitted briefly to the jungle gym where Teddy was still climbing around and talking to his new friends. Seeing that his godson was thoroughly occupied, Harry’s grin widened and he leaned in for another kiss. Draco was happy to oblige him.

“I have a gift for you too,” he said. “Because, you know, it’s actually your birthday.”

“Oh, is that so?” Harry replied, his smile still splitting his face in half.

“Yes. And I was excited about giving it to you, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pull out any more unexpected gifts, trying to one-up me.”

Harry laughed. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“All right.” He took a deep breath, then pulled the shrunk box out of his pocket. After discreetly casting a privacy charm so no Muggles would look their way, he enlarged the box before handing it to Harry.

Harry met his eyes briefly before efficiently removing the silver paper to reveal the square, wooden box underneath. The wood was dark and intricately carved along all sides.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry remarked.

“That’s not really the present,” Draco told him. “Open it.”

Harry lifted the lid and reached inside. When he extracted the small glass ball he looked at it curiously a moment before turning his face to Draco.

“Is this a Remembrall? Like what Neville had our first year at Hogwarts?”

“No,” Draco said with a chuckle. “Although it’s made by the same company. But this is much better than that. Give it a light squeeze.”

Harry did, and the ball filled with purple smoke. Looking more closely, Draco saw that there were also little puffs of yellow here are there, as well as the slightest hint of orange.

“Interesting design,” Harry remarked. “What does it mean?”

“It’s how I’m feeling right now,” Draco said. Harry looked at him sharply, and Draco felt his cheeks heat. “It’s… linked to me. To my emotions. When you hold it in your hand firmly like that, it will fill with smoke, and it will change color according to what I'm feeling at the moment.”

Harry stared at it, fascinated. “It’s sort of like those mood rings I’ve scene Muggle teenagers wear. Except this is actually… I suppose it really works.”

“It should. And it should only work for you. It knows your magical signature now. It won’t work for anyone but you or me.”

Harry looked at the smoke a moment. “How will I know what the colors mean?”

“There’s a small roll of parchment inside the box. It lists all the colors and the emotions they represent. I think it’s also the sort of thing you learn over time, the more you spend with it.”

“Do you know what these colors mean?” Harry asked him, his voice sounding a bit tight.

Draco nodded. “Do you want to look it up, or do you want me to tell you?”

“I want you to tell me,” Harry said, staring at Draco intently. 

“Well, the yellow is happiness, and that little bit of orange is anxiety, because… well I suppose I was nervous about how you’d feel about this present. But purple is the dominant emotion right now. And that’s… love.”

He expected Harry to look at him again, to smile, to thank him, but he just kept staring at the glass ball in his hand.

“Harry?” Draco put a hand on Harry’s knee. “I… is it all right? Did I…? Do you like it?”

When Harry finally looked at him, his eyes were wet. “Draco,” he said roughly. “Do you… do you have any idea what this  _is_?”

Draco blinked at him, thrown.

“This is your  _heart_ , Draco. You’re letting me see inside your  _heart._ ”

“Yes,” Draco said softly. “I know.”

“Only me.”

“Yes.”

“You’re just…  _giving_ it to me.”

“Yes. I’m ready to.”

Harry sniffed, wiping his eyes. “Merlin,” he said, almost to himself.

“I trust you, Harry. And I wanted you to know just how much. I know you’ll keep it safe.”

Harry let out a stifled sob, and Draco put a hand on Harry’s back in comfort, leaning into him. “Fuck. This is so… I don’t even have words for what this means to me.” He inhaled and exhaled shakily a few times. “I  _will_ keep it safe. I promise. I’ll never abuse it.”

“I know,” said Draco, swallowing against the lump that had formed in his throat, seeing Harry react this way.

Harry wiped his eyes again. “Gods, and you were worried I was one-upping you. When all I gave you was a pair of cufflinks and you gave me your heart in a box.”

Draco laughed lightly, brushing some moisture off of Harry’s cheek. “It wasn’t actually a competition, you know. I wasn’t expecting a gift at all.”

Harry nodded. “I know that.”

“Besides, I know they’re more than just cufflinks. I know what they mean. I know now how long you… wanted this. Us. They tell me that you really thought about this and that you’ve been ready for a long time.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “That’s exactly it.”

“And that means a hell of a lot to me, to know that.”

“Good.”

Draco kissed him again, enjoying the way Harry’s lips had become even softer, and a little salty, from his unexpected tears. Draco didn’t mind that at all, now that he knew that Harry was not upset, but rather deeply moved. 

Draco had done something good. He had clarified even more just how invested he was in this, and Harry had done the same.

He gave Harry a few minutes to recover, and when Harry looked essentially back to normal and gave him an affirmative nod, he lifted the privacy charm. 

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked him.

“Yeah, starving, actually,” Draco replied. Now that the gift was given and his nerves had died down, the miniscule breakfast he’d eaten felt like ages ago.

“Teddy!” Harry called to his godson, who was swinging on a swing but looked in their direction when he heard his name. “Come on, time for lunch!”

Teddy flew off the swing with practiced grace, waving goodbye to the boy he’d been swinging next to and coming to join Harry and Draco on the picnic blanket. Harry began unpacking the basket, taking out one tasty treat after another. He’d gone all out, with sausage rolls, ham hock, crusty bread, soft cheese, fresh veg, and a big flagon of pumpkin juice.

Teddy downed a glass of juice quickly, clearly thirsty from his exertions on the playground, while Harry fixed him up a plate with all his favorites.

“Eat the vegetables too,” Harry told him as he handed him the plate.

“I will,” Teddy said in a sing-song tone, clearly a practiced reaction to a habitual chiding. He bit into a carrot to prove his point, and Harry nodded, seeming satisfied.

Draco and Harry both had a little bit of everything as they asked Teddy about what he did on the playground and the kids he had met. When they’d exhausted that topic, Teddy asked Draco about his parents, wondering why he had never met them if Narcissa and Andromeda were sisters.

“They live in France now, actually,” Draco told him. “They don’t really come back to Britain much.”

“Why not?”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose they really like it there.”

“But don’t you miss them?”

“Sometimes,” said Draco, after a quick glance in Harry’s direction. “But I can go visit them if I want. That’s what I did at Christmas.”

“Oh,” said Teddy. “I’ve never been to France.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Could my Gran and I go for a visit? And you and Harry too?”

Draco exchanged a longer look with Harry, unsure how to answer that.

“Maybe someday, Ted,” Harry said to his godson. “But not right away. It’s the sort of things that requires a lot of planning.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sure my mother would love to meet you, though,” Draco told him. “Next time I write to her, I’ll tell her all about you.” Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but Draco wanted to believe it was possible that his mother would still want to read his letters. He supposed he would have to wait for a reply to his most recent one before he would know for sure.

Teddy grinned. “’Kay.” 

“How about some dessert?” Harry suggested. “I brought my favorite.”

“Treacle tart?” Teddy asked, bouncing up and down on the blanket.

“That’s right,” said Harry. “And this one is very special, because Draco was the one who gave it to me.”

Draco laughed, surprised. “I’m impressed that you managed to not eat it before now.”

Harry smiled. “Well, I’ve already eaten everything else in the box. But I saved the best for last. Delayed gratification, and all that.”

They dug in, each of them having a big slice despite the sizeable lunch they’d eaten before. Soon it was time to go, and they were well fed and chatty as they cleaned and packed up.

“You can come to the match with us today if you want,” Teddy told Draco as they left the park. He turned to his godfather with wide eyes. “Can’t he, Harry?”

Harry ruffled the boy’s hair, making him smile. “It’s sweet of you to invite him. But the match is sold out, I’m afraid. And we don’t have an extra ticket.”

“I think Harry wants to spend some time with you on his own for his birthday anyway,” Draco told him. “But I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

“Are you coming to the party tonight?”

“Not tonight, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Draco wasn’t sure he could explain it without telling at least a white lie. “By the time I knew the party was happening, I’d already made other plans.”

“What other plans?”

“Teddy,” Harry admonished with a raised eyebrow. “You’re being a bit nosey.”

“Oh,” said Teddy. “Sorry.”

Draco chuckled. “It’s quite all right. The next time there’s a party for Harry, I’ll be sure to be there, I promise.”

Teddy seemed placated, and when they got back to the house he immediately fled up the stairs to his room to change for the Quidditch match. Draco followed Harry to the kitchen, helping him unpack the basket and put things away.

“Well, Teddy obviously approves,” Harry remarked happily. “Not that I was worried, really.”

“Does he understand… you know, what this is? What we are?”

Harry nodded. “He knows I’m gay, and he’s old enough to know what that means. But I’ve also never introduced him to someone I was dating before. As you know, I was never serious enough with any of them.”

“Right.”

“So, this is new for him, me having a boyfriend. But he loves meeting new people and he’s very comfortable with adults. And he wants me to be happy.”

“I’m sure.”

“His birth parents may be gone, but he’s a very well-loved kid. Andromeda, the Weasleys, Hermione, me… there are a lot of people in his life who are there for him. He’s never been the type to get jealous when someone else is taking up my attention. He gets plenty of it, and he’s always seemed pretty happy.”

“I can definitely see how that’s true,” said Draco. Harry started in on washing the dishes, and Draco joined him at the sink to help dry. “You know it’s… interesting,” he added after a minute of working in silence. “I knew he was your godson, of course. But I never thought about the fact that his parents are gone. Which is stupid, I suppose. But I didn’t give much thought to what a large role you play in his life.”

Harry nodded, rinsing a plate and handing it to him. “I certainly try. But it’s like I said before, being at Hogwarts makes it hard. At the same time, though, there isn’t anyone who quite has the same role as I do. He stays over here a lot in the summer, and it’s been that way since he was a baby. So I guess we have… you know, a bond.”

“Yeah.”

Harry watched Draco drying another plate with his wand for a minute. “I suppose that’s something I maybe should have asked you. About how you felt about that. Me having this eight-year-old in my life who I take care of sometimes. I guess it’s the sort of thing people in committed relationships are supposed to discuss.”

“We can talk about it if you want,” Draco said, adding the dried plate to the stack on the counter. “But I can tell you right now I don’t have an issue. The opposite, in fact. I like seeing you with him. It’s sweet.” Knowing Harry was already practiced at parenting only made him more appealing, though Draco wasn’t sure if now was the time to mention that. Pansy’s caution about rushing into the children conversation too fast had stuck with him. He definitely didn’t want to rush things.

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Harry replied, smiling softly. “I mean, I didn’t honestly think you would. But I guess I’m realizing that the first time around you saw this very small sliver of my life, and I only saw a small sliver of yours.”

“And now we’re going to be experiencing everything.”

“Yeah. It’s going to be different.”

The dishes were done and Harry dried his hands. Then he turned to Draco and wrapped arms around his waist.

“It will be different,” Draco agreed. “But I think it will be a good different. Great, even.”

They looked into each other’s eyes a moment.

“I think so too,” Harry said. “I’m just learning as I go, I suppose.”

Draco kissed him. “Me too.”

Harry kissed him back, cupping Draco’s face to hold him there. At least, until both men heard some giggling behind them and turned to look. Teddy was standing there, a mischievous grin on his face.

“You came in very sneakily,” Harry accused him, pulling away from Draco a little. “Were you spying, perchance?”

“No,” Teddy said, but the grin gave him away. “Just looking.”

Harry shook his head, seeming mostly amused, though his face was fairly red. He pointed towards the hall. “Go put your shoes on.”

Teddy looked down at his feet. “But I  _have_ my shoes on.”

“Well , then… just go wait for me by the door, would you? Cheeky rascal.”

Teddy giggled again. “I already saw you kissing earlier at the park, you know. It’s not even a big deal.”

But he did as he was told, flashing them one more grin before disappearing down the hall. Draco chuckled.

“He certainly is a cheeky rascal, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” Harry said drily. “Just you wait.” He gave Draco a peck. “I suppose we have to get going.”

Draco nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Can I see you tomorrow? I’d like to keep up this streak we have going.”

“Of course. How about lunch? And then maybe do something in the city in the afternoon?”

Harry kissed him once more, lingering, making it count. “Perfect.”

***

Draco was just finishing his toast when the owl post arrived the following morning. He knew immediately something was wrong just from the look on Nixie’s face alone when she came to deliver the small stack to him. 

Then he spotted the red envelope sandwiched in the middle, and knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Give me the red one,” he told Nixie.

“Master…”

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “Just give it to me, please.”

She did. Now that it was in his presence, it was already starting to smoke. He took one final breath and opened it.

“DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY,” his father’s voice boomed through the dining room, loud certainly, but also rather slow and deliberate in its cadence. “YOUR MOST RECENT LETTER WAS UNACCEPTABLE. YOUR CHOICES AND BEHAVIOR ARE UNACCEPTABLE. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US, AND WITH  _HIM_ OF ALL PEOPLE? I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT, MARK MY WORDS. I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO PERVERT THE NAME OF MALFOY. IT IS A DISGRACE. CORRECT YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES.”

Draco watched the letter burn to ash, mouth resting solemnly against shaky hands. Well, he had been expecting it. He had known it would come. He had always known.

But a part of him had still hoped. He thought maybe his mother would have compassion and could help her husband see reason. 

Apparently not.

“Are you all right, Master Draco?” Nixie asked softly.

“Yes, Nixie. Thank you. I’m all right.”

“He isn’t meaning it, sir, I’m sure.”

“He means it,” Draco said darkly. “The bit about perversion and disgrace at least. The threats… I’m not so worried about those.”

“The wards are impenetrable, sir.”

Draco looked at her. “I don’t think he would dare do anything to the ancestral home, don’t worry. He would never actually commit violence over this. It’s too much of a risk.”

Nixie thought that over. “No, you is probably right about that.”

“He doesn’t have much clout anymore either, and he knows it. He just… wants me to be ashamed.” Draco knew this was so. He’d stopped having any physical fear of his father long ago. The only thing Lucius Malfoy had been able to lord over Draco in his adulthood was his approval. For a long time, Draco had wanted that more than he cared to admit. Now it didn’t seem so important.

He had regrets about his mother, though. He hoped maybe she would write to him in secret. It was early yet. She might come around.

And until then, Draco had others to turn to.

Leaving the last bits of his breakfast behind, he made his way to his study to make a floo call. Perhaps Harry was awake and would be all right if he came over earlier than planned.

He had a feeling he was welcome.


	19. Lesson 19: Life Is Not a Game of Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... unfortunately... I'm officially out of chapters. I've been writing to try to catch up with what I had in the bank but this is the last of it. I'm diligently working away on chapter 20, but it usually takes me 2 to 3 weeks to write a chapter, and it's pretty much guaranteed I won't be able to post next Sunday. I will, however, post just as soon as it's ready, I promise! I'm very sad to not be able to keep to the schedule for this last little bit and I'll hope you'll be patient with me and stick with it. If you haven't already, you can subscribe to find out right away when I've posted the next chapter. Sorry guys! :/
> 
> About this chapter: I know I've taken you on an emotional rollercoaster with this fic, and I wanted to make sure you knew that we're not quite done with the angst just yet. It's not really Drarry angst though. Our boys are fine. Things are getting better and better between them, in fact. But I am continuing a side plot from earlier that deals with terminal illness, dying, and grief, so I just wanted to make sure you were prepared for that. I didn't want it to sneak up on you.
> 
> The responses from all of you continue to be incredible, and I have so much gratitude for you right now. That's spurring me on to keep writing and finish Ch 20 as soon as I can!

_Dear Mother,_

_Teddy asked after you again yesterday. I told him about my most recent letter to you, that yes, I had mentioned him, that I had told you about his love of flying and Quidditch as well as his ever-improving metamorphmagus abilities. He was pleased, but he wanted to know what you’d said in reply. I could tell him nothing but the truth: that you hadn’t yet written me back. He was wondering why. I suppose, since you are his great aunt and all, that he has taken a particular interest in you. I told him that you were currently on holiday on the coast, and simply hadn’t gotten around to writing me yet._

_Perhaps that’s true, and perhaps not. You’re the only one who knows for sure._

_I met Andromeda for the first time in years yesterday when she came by to retrieve her grandson from Harry’s house after our afternoon flying together. She really does look strikingly like Bellatrix upon first glance, doesn’t she? I hadn’t realized that before, and I will admit that I felt a lurch in my gut at the sight of her. But as soon as I heard her voice the differences were evident. I really rather like her. She’s a strong woman to have survived all that she did, and raising her grandson on her own (Harry helps, of course, but it’s hard when he’s at school). You’d be very proud of her, I think. She was quite gracious to me and asked after you as well. I told her what I could, that you were happy in France, and she seemed glad of that._

_Things with Harry are going swimmingly. The relationship was fairly casual the first time around, and now that we’ve acknowledged our feelings we are able to be much more serious and honest. We are taking it slow, but I still see him most days, and even when I don’t see him in person we end up talking by floo for a little while every day. I find I sleep better after I’ve talked to him. Did you feel that way when you and Father were courting?_

_And speaking of which, when did you know that the arranged marriage had become a love match? I’ve heard you mention it offhand before, but never with any specifics. I’ve always wondered but never asked. There are a lot of things I’ve wanted to know about you but have never asked, actually. Perhaps someday we can see each other again and talk about them._

_Harry and I have a big night planned tonight. Pansy is throwing another party (honestly, when is she_ not  _throwing a party?) and wants me to bring Harry. They’ve known each other for years, of course, but this will be the first time she’ll be meeting him as my partner. I can tell Harry is nervous, but he’s being a very good sport about all of it. He knows how important Pansy is to me. It helps that Pansy is very supportive of this relationship. I know she’ll be kind to him._

_Harry and I also have a tentative dinner scheduled with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley (now married, you understand) for next week. Weasley has been rather busy at his job (he’s an Auror) and it’s been hard to pin down a date. I joked that perhaps they both simply wanted to avoid having to socialize with me at all. Harry rolled his eyes and called me a prat, but he does that a lot so I didn’t take offense. He then assured me that his two best friends are actually trying to keep an open mind about the whole thing. It’s likely they are skeptical, as is most of wizarding Britain, but I’m not concerned about that. I will win them over in the end. I’m determined to. And you know what I’m like when I’m determined._

_I suppose I should end my letter here and tend to other things. If you are ever inclined to write to me, I’m eager to hear from you. I’d still love to know how you’re enjoying Cassis._

_All my love,_

_Draco_

 

Draco finished the letter with a satisfied flourish and folded it neatly. When his owl Iris returned he would send it off with her, with instructions to deliver it directly to Narcissa if possible. He knew he could not avoid the possibility that his father would get ahold of it first, but there was some chance he wouldn’t, and that was enough.

Draco couldn’t explain exactly why he was still writing letters to his mother, despite the fact that she hadn’t replied to any of them. There was just something in his gut that told him that he should. He just felt as though she was keeping them and reading them. He felt as though she wanted him to write, though he had no evidence whatsoever to support this.

He’d heard from his father twice more already. The day after the initial Howler he sent a letter, illuminating even more the reasons why bisexuality was unbefitting of a Malfoy and why Harry Potter specifically was such an atrocious choice. Apparently the Howler alone hadn’t been enough for Lucius to vent his frustrations. Draco had skimmed the letter apathetically and tossed it in the fire.

Another Howler came not a week later, in reaction to Harry and Draco’s first appearance together in the press. They had been spotted out together in Diagon doing some shopping and research on new texts coming into Flourish & Blott’s, the usual preparations for the upcoming school year. But they’d also taken a break at Fortescue’s, and there were a few photographs of them enjoying ice cream and “canoodling,” as one reporter put it. There was plenty of commentary on Draco’s checkered past and Harry’s “playboy ways,” all of which clearly irked Lucius. But Draco thought that, more than anything, it was likely the final photo of Harry wiping a bit of chocolate from Draco’s lip and then leaning in for a kiss that really did him in. That was a visual that was going to haunt Lucius Malfoy for a long time. Draco took a grim satisfaction from that.

Narcissa, on the other hand, hadn’t written a word, and Draco had decided to take this as a sign to write her more rather than less. No, she had not yet championed his right to make his own choices, but neither had she condemned him. If she disapproved, Draco could imagine getting a letter from her, much more conciliatory than her husband’s but still beseeching him to reconsider his actions. The fact that she hadn’t written such a letter gave Draco hope. It was enough to spur him to continue this stealth campaign of slowly winning her over with details of Draco’s domestic bliss. It was all she had ever wanted for him, after all.

A throat-clearing got his attention, and Draco looked up from his desk to see that the portrait of his godfather was suddenly occupied.

“Severus,” Draco said lightly. “How are you? It’s been a while.”

“Yes, well, you haven’t been spending time in your study much lately, have you?”

“That’s true,” Draco considered. “I’ve been out of the house a lot in recent weeks.”

“Indeed.”

Something about the tone of that one word had Draco looking at his godfather sharply. They watched each other a moment, each taking the other’s measure.

“Harry Potter,” Severus said finally, sounding somewhere between incensed and resigned.

Draco had to fight a pleased smile as he replied. “Yes. What about him?”

He heard Severus’ telltale sniff and waited. “You  _know_ what about him, Draco. You… you are…” He seemed unable to finish the thought.

“In love with him, yes,” Draco said, folding his hands in front of him and looking at his godfather calmly. “How did you hear?”

“Minerva,” said Severus. “She was so giddy about it I was certain she was playing some sort of joke. But she showed me the copy of the  _Prophet_ with you splashed across the society pages with… with  _Potter_ and I had to believe her.”

“Yes. The photographs don’t lie,” Draco agreed.

There was a prolonged silence in which Severus stared at his godson impassively from his regal portrait. Draco stared back and wondered what the man was thinking, exactly.

“It would be a lie to say I approve,” Severus said finally.

“Good thing I never asked for your approval then,” Draco replied coolly. He loved his godfather dearly, and in his childhood had taken great pleasure in Severus’ patent dislike of Harry Potter. Now, he had a rather different perspective.

“Why  _him,_ Draco?” Severus asked, and his voice sounded about as pleading as he would ever allow it to become. “If you want a man, that is fine with me, but  _this_ man-“

“It’s a relief to know you aren’t a homophobe, Uncle,” Draco interrupted. “Only prejudice in other ways, it seems.”

“I beg your pardon,” Severus replied, sounding genuinely affronted.

“Prejudiced against Potters, is what I meant. I’ve heard a little about how much you hated James Potter in school. I understand that your dislike of Harry was a byproduct of that, and based on no actual understanding of Harry himself.”

Severus sniffed again. “My dislike of the younger Potter was a direct result of his own behavior. That he was so  _like_ his father in every unpleasant way only confirmed-“

“And what of his mother then? Lily?” Draco asked, shuffling some papers around on his desk so he wouldn’t have to look at the older Slytherin. He was starting to get genuinely annoyed. “Was he not like her at all?”

There was silence again.

“What has he told you?” the man hissed, making Draco look up in surprise.

“I’m sorry? What has he told me? About his mother?”

Severus hesitated a moment. “Yes.”

“That she was by all accounts a lovely woman,” Draco said, flabbergasted. “Brilliant, brave, and exceptionally kind. Harry is not the only one to give me such an account of her, actually. Why? Do you know something about her that I don’t?”

Severus narrowed his eyes at Draco before saying, curtly, “No. That is accurate.”

“Well, then…” Draco said. “My experience is that Harry is more like his mother than his father. Not that I knew either of them, of course. But Harry himself admits that James was a bully in his youth, a fact that I can see disappoints and saddens him. But he also has reason to believe his father grew out of it as he matured, and he takes comfort in that.”

Severus snorted. “I’m sure.”

Draco cut his eyes to his godfather in warning. “Let’s not pretend that you and I don’t both know a thing or two about being a bully, Severus. And I stand as living proof that a person can grow out of such behavior. Compared to Harry, you and I-“

“This is quite disturbing, and I wish to hear no more of it,” Severus said sharply.

“Very well,” Draco said lightly. “You are always free to leave.”

“You  _defending_ Potter…”

“He is the love of my life. Why should I not defend him?”

Severus spluttered a moment. “You’re really serious about this.”

“Yes.”

“Harry Potter.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even begin to-“

“Yes, I know. It’s a bit hard to wrap your head around, and I have sympathy for that.” And Draco honestly did. From the outside it would seem sudden, to those who had no idea what had occurred in the past year. But to Draco, it was hardly sudden at all, and in his certainty he had very little interest in quibbling about it. “But might I remind you that it was you yourself that said I ought to find a partner worthy of me. And I cannot think of a person more worthy than Harry. And, before you protest…” he said, seeing his godfather open his mouth to interrupt, “know that I’m not talking about his role in the second war or his defeat of Voldemort. I’m talking about who he is as a person. Who he is with his friends, his godson, with  _me_. I can’t even begin to tell you, Uncle…” He trailed off, in serious danger of getting misty-eyed. He swallowed. “You didn’t see me much before the summer. You didn’t see me upon my arrival at Hogwarts. But I was… a different man. So unsure of myself, so lost…”

“And Potter  _fixed_ you, is that it?” Severus asked derisively.

“No,” said Draco. “Because he would never think I needed fixing. He simply… allowed me to figure myself out. He… made room for whatever I needed to be moment to moment and… and…” He shook his head. “And let me figure it out, only helping when I asked for it. And, most importantly of all, he never doubted me. He never,  _ever_ doubted that I was capable-“

The floo chimed. Draco turned towards it, startled. He wiped his eyes quickly.

“Forgive me,” he said to his godfather. “I ought to answer.”

Severus said nothing as Draco made his way to the hearth and opened the floo connection. Harry’s head and torso appeared, a grim expression on his face that immediately had Draco’s stomach plummeting.

“Harry? Is everything all right?”

“I…” Harry seemed to be at a loss to answer. “I’m not… well… no, I suppose not.”

“What happened?” Draco asked.

“My uncle Vernon’s in hospital. Has been, actually. But Dudley just called to tell me that he’s lost consciousness and that this… this is it. It won’t be long now.”

“Oh.” Draco wasn’t sure what to say. “How are you feeling?”

Harry stared at him, his mouth a flat line and his eyes conflicted. “I don’t know. Dudley’s… asked me to be there. He thinks it would be good for us to have closure, even though… He’s asked and I…”

Draco waited for Harry to go on, but when he didn’t he prodded, “And what do you want? What you do you need?”

Harry ran a hand over his eyes. “I think I need to be there. I know it sounds… it doesn’t make any  _sense._ But I think I need to see him, one last time.”

“So you’re going to the hospital?”

“Yes. In just a few minutes.”

“Can I come with you?”

Harry’s eyes shimmered in the green flames of the fire. “Would you?”

“Happily,” Draco replied immediately.

“It’s a lot to ask.”

“I’m offering. Because I want to be there with you.”

Harry stared at him a moment. “Yes I… I would love to have you there.”

“Good, then. Let me change into some Muggle clothes and I’ll be there shortly. Leave the floo open for me.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, sounding like he truly meant it. “I love you.”

“I love you too. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Harry cut the floo connection and Draco stood. When he turned back to the portrait of his godfather, the man had the most peculiar look on his face.

“Vernon Dursley is dying,” Severus said flatly.

“It appears so,” replied Draco. “I have to be off. We’ll continue this discussion later.”

“Indeed.”

Draco Apparated upstairs to his bedroom and quickly threw on a pair of black jeans and a jumper, deciding he didn’t have to worry too much about presentation. He was anxious to get to Harry.

Harry was pacing his sitting room when Draco came through the floo. He paused, staring at Draco, and immediately came into Draco’s arms as they opened for him.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said softly.

“I don’t know what to feel,” Harry replied. “But I’ve decided I ought to be there. Simply because…” He pulled back, his hands clutching Draco’s shoulders. “There’s no going back from this, is there? There is no chance to do it again. So if some small part of me wants to do it, I ought to.”

Draco took him in: the sallow pallor of his skin, the lines on his forehead. “You don’t have to justify any of it to me, Harry.”

“I know that,” said Harry. “I suppose I’m still trying to talk myself into it. There is a part if me even now that wants to flee and not face it at all.”

“And what reason do you have to go ahead and face it?”

“Because I  _must_ face him at some point, musn’t I? He’s the person who, other than Voldemort, has shaped my life the most in ways I could not control. He…  _made_ me, whether I like to admit that or not. Adversely, perhaps. But he did. And I think it’s as important to come face-to-face with that as it is to be face-to-face with the people I loved the most in their moment of death. I’ve done plenty of that and it was good for me, in the end. And this is different, but also… the same, in some way I can’t really explain.”

“You want to put him behind you,” Draco said in an attempt at a summary.

“Yes,” Harry said, pulling Draco closer. “I think that’s it.”

“Well, then that’s what you should do.”

“I’m frightened,” Harry admitted, his voice small.

“I’m here,” Draco said.

“I’m so, so glad of that,” Harry replied, and they remained still for a few moments, just clutching each other, Harry’s cheek resting against Draco’s.

Then Harry pulled back. “All right, I’m ready.” He offered his elbow. “I’ll Apparate us.”

Draco took the elbow with a nod. He was ready too.

***

The Muggle hospital reminded Draco of St. Mungo’s in many ways, despite the difference in the signs, the lifts, and the uniforms of the personnel. There was a bustle around them as they entered the place, a bustle of those saving lives and doing important things, that he supposed was a hallmark of any hospital, magic or Muggle.

Harry asked the front desk for directions to the ICU, and they had to take a lift two floors up before making their way through a maze of hallways to an area marked “Intensive Care.”

It was immediately apparent they had come to the right place when they both spotted Dudley Dursley standing in a hallway next to a woman with long, straight, sandy blond hair. The man looked up when he saw them.

“You made it,” he said, immediately pulling Harry into an embrace, much to both wizards’ surprise. 

“Of course,” Harry said softly as he pulled away. “Dudley, you remember Draco.”

The blond Muggle extended a hand. “Right. Good to see you again.” Draco shook his hand and then turned to the woman next to him, following Dursley’s lead. “And this is my wife, Allison.”

 _Of course_ , Draco realized. Dursley had married in June. Draco himself had been informally invited to the wedding.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Allison said, clutching his hand in her two small, soft ones. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 _From who, exactly?_  Draco wanted to ask, but didn’t. He knew this wasn’t the time. He watched Harry lean down and give Allison a kiss, and they exchanged a few soft words in mutual greeting.

“Where’s your mum?” Harry asked his cousin once he’d pulled back from Allison.

“She’s in with him,” he said, pointing to a hospital room door to their left. “But she’s expecting you. You can go on in, if you like.”

Harry turned to Draco with a question in his eyes, and Draco nodded, indicating he would follow Harry’s lead on this. Harry turned towards the door and Draco went behind him, throwing a small wave in the direction of Dursley and his wife.

It was a private room, dimly lit with a single bed and a small sofa along one wall. There was a soft  _beep beep_ that set a rhythm in the room, and otherwise there was only stillness. The man lying in the bed could only be Vernon Dursley. He had the look of someone who had once loomed large but had shrunken quickly. His skin was withered and pale, his limbs sagging limp and thin under the bedspread. There was a tube attached to one of his arms as well as one in his nose, a sight Draco found both strange and disconcerting.

In a chair by the bedside sat a tall, bony woman with graying hair. She craned her long neck in their direction as the two men entered the room, her severe face drawn and wary.

“Petunia,” Harry greeted her. 

The woman stared at her nephew a moment, her beady eyes discerning. “I didn’t actually think you’d come.” There was neither awe nor gratitude in her voice. There was barely disbelief.  If anything, she sounded begrudging, and it made Draco bristle with dislike.

“Dudley asked me to,” Harry said. “And I thought… Well, it seemed like the right thing.”

Petunia sniffed, turning back to her husband. She patted the man’s spotted, fragile hand and said, “Very well. I’ll leave you to it, then,” as if she were speaking to Dursley, and not to Harry.

It was when she stood that she finally noticed Draco in the room as well. She paused, seeming momentarily stymied.

“Petunia, this is my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy. Draco, my Aunt Petunia.”

Draco nodded his head. “A pleasure,” he said, copying Harry’s indifferent tone.

“Yes, I’m sure,” said the woman. Draco had no idea what to make of that. And he didn’t have much time to consider it, because she immediately swept past both him and Harry, making for the door. “We’ll be in the lounge,” she added, as an afterthought, before she closed the door behind her.

Draco turned to Harry. “Charming woman.”

Harry gave him a small, amused smile. “She’s usually a bit warmer than that. I think Vernon’s illness has taken its toll.”

 _Generous as usual_ , Draco thought but didn’t say aloud. It was not his job to become embroiled in family disputes or drama, not this day. Maybe someday he would get a chance to say his piece to Petunia Dursley, but that wasn’t what Harry needed from him right now.

“Well,” said Harry, standing there and looking at his uncle. “I suppose we can… sit.”

“Where do you want me?”

Harry looked around at him. “Anywhere you would be comfortable.”

Draco nodded, making his way around the bed and settling himself on the sofa. Harry didn’t join him there, but rather took the chair that Petunia had been occupying minutes before.

He didn’t make any move to touch Dursley, only watched him impassively. Draco studied Harry for a bit in silence, but became distracted momentarily when he heard the honking of a car horn outside. He looked out the window to the street below, where a car appeared to be blocking an intersection, much to the annoyance of the other drivers.

A heavy sigh from Harry brought Draco’s attention back into the room after a minute.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Harry said.

“Do what?” Draco asked gently, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, meeting Harry’s eyes across the hospital bed. “Be here?”

Harry shook his head. “Talk to him.”

Draco nodded slowly. Right. He could see how that would be difficult. What did Harry have to say to his uncle, at this point?

“With someone else in the room,” Harry finished, after a perceptible pause. His eyes were apologetic, and Draco suddenly understood.

“You need to be alone?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Draco said immediately, standing. “This isn’t… Whatever you need, you get, all right? You don’t have to worry about me.” He came around the bed again to Harry.

“I dragged you all the way here, though.”

Draco leaned down over Harry’s chair, so their faces were only inches apart. “Not quite,” he said drily. “I believe I offered and told you I wanted to be here. Because I do. And if you need some time alone with him, that’s perfectly reasonable. I’ll just wait outside until you need me, all right?” He kissed Harry on the head. “No guilt.”

Harry gave him a watery laugh. “Yes, sir.”

Draco lips found Harry’s mouth and gave him a soft peck. “I’ll just get to know your charming family a little better, shall I?”

Harry snorted lightly. “You’ll enjoy Allison, at least. She’s lovely.”

“Mm, good then.” He gave Harry one last, light kiss. “Come get me if you need me.”

“I will.”

Draco went out into the hallway, looking around for any signs of the lounge Petunia had mentioned. He spotted one that pointed him to the right, and Draco ventured that way, albeit reluctantly. A part of him wanted to simply linger in the hallway and wait for Harry. But he knew it would be bad form not to find Harry’s relatives and at least make an attempt at friendliness. They were a part of Harry’s family, for better or for worse.

The lounge was small, sparse, and free of occupants save for the three Dursleys sitting together along the far wall. They all looked up in surprise when Draco entered, and he gave him a closed-mouth smile and a nod of his head as he came to sit down in one of the chairs against an adjacent wall. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, and he adjusted himself a moment, aware that the Dursleys were all watching him.

“Harry’s still in there, I guess,” said Dudley, after a pause.

Draco nodded. “He asked to have a few minutes alone,” he explained.

“For what purpose?” Petunia asked, her tone strangely suspicious.

Draco arched a brow. “I believe he just wanted some privacy,” he said mildly. “To talk. To say what he needed to say.”

Dudley was looking at his mother sideways, his mouth twisted. “What did you think, Mum? That Harry’s going to do something to him? Now? After all this time?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Petunia stood stiffly from her chair. “I’m going to get some tea,” she announced to the room, and left.

Allison clutched her husband’s hand in her own, leaning over to murmur to him. Still, Draco could catch the words.

“I don’t think she meant it like that, love. It’s just the stress.”

Dudley sighed. “She takes it out on everyone, though. Most of all him.”

“Yes,” Allison agreed gently. “And you take yours out on her.”

Her voice was so soft and loving that it didn’t even seem like a chiding, just an observation. Dudley’s shoulders sagged.

“I’ll apologize to her when she comes back,” he said resignedly. Allison gave him a kiss on the cheek, and Draco hid a small smile behind a hand, straightening his expression out completely when Allison turned to him.

“I’m very glad you’re here, Draco, so we could finally meet.”

“Me too,” Draco said. “And congratulations on the nuptials. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there.”

“Thank you. We’re sorry to have missed you as well. It wasn’t a huge affair, but it was lovely all the same.”

“I’m sure.”

“What I remember of it anyway. It was all a bit of a blur, to be honest,” she added, smiling sheepishly.

Draco laughed lightly. “So was mine,” he said, before realizing neither Dudley nor Allison would have any context for what he was talking about. They both looked at him, surprised. “I used to be married,” he explained hurriedly. “It was something my parents arranged. Needless to say, it didn’t last.”

“Ah,” said Allison. “Well, I’d say it was a shame, but then, you wouldn’t have found Harry then, would you?”

“Very true,” agreed Draco. “So it all worked out.”

“Life has a way of doing that, if you let it,” said Allison.

They drifted into a thoughtful silence, as if each contemplating whether or not that was true. Petunia Dursley came back into the room, two steaming paper cups clutched in her hand. To Draco’s shock the woman approached him and held out one of the cups. 

“Would you care for tea?” she asked flatly.

Draco took it from her automatically. “Thank you.”

The woman nodded and took a seat, a little farther from her son than she had been sitting before.

“You weren’t at the wedding,” she remarked to Draco, surprising him yet again. “Dudley seemed to think you would be at the wedding.”

Draco glanced at Harry’s cousin, who shrugged at him, as if in apology.

“No,” Draco said cautiously. “I was just telling Allison and Dudley that I was sorry to have missed it.”

“He brought some female friend with him instead,” Petunia remarked, and Draco noticed a thin thread of disapproval in her voice, which seemed out of place. “She’d left her infant daughter at home with her husband to attend a wedding with another man.”

 _Ah_ , Draco realized.  _That’s why she disapproves._

“Sounds like it was Hermione Granger,” he said.

“Yes, that was her name,” said Allison. “Hermione. She was quite nice, wasn’t she?”

“She’s one of Harry’s oldest friends,” Draco remarked. “And, what with Harry being gay and all, I’m sure there was no impropriety intended.”

There was a silence, in which Petunia stared into her tea, Dudley drummed his fingers on his knee, and Draco realized he had probably just crossed a line without meaning to.

“Well, I thought she was lovely,” Allison said gamely. “I think Harry was very glad to have her there.”

“I’m sure,” said Draco. He took a sip from the cup in his hand, fighting a grimace. It was the cheap stuff. But at least it was hot. He forced himself to swallow.

“I think I’d like to take a walk,” Dudley said suddenly. He looked at Petunia. “Mum, would you like to join me?”

Petunia stared at him a moment, blinking. But then she nodded. “Very well. I’m no good sitting around, anyway.”

Dudley gave his wife a peck on the lips. “We’ll be back,” he said softly.

“Take your time,” she whispered to him. When mother and son were gone, she got up out of her chair and sat down next to Draco.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said immediately. “It seems I’ve only made things worse.”

“No,” Allison assured him. He turned to look at her. This close up he could see small freckles spotting her nose and genuine warmth in her deep brown eyes. “If you hadn’t said something, Dudley would have, and it likely would have come out… much less diplomatically.”

“He does that a lot then? Defends Harry?”

“Recently, yes. Mostly because he’s right in that Petunia can slip into some old habits about Harry’s… you know…”

Draco stared at her, wondering if she was trying to avoid the word “homosexuality.” But then she looked around the room and leaned in, whispering, “You know… magic.”

“Ah,” said Draco, nodding knowingly. “Right. She used to have a problem with it. Harry told me about that.”

“Yes. And she’s not entirely comfortable still. And I think that shows itself when she’s upset or stressed. And she’s pretty much in constant grief nowadays, so…”

“Right.”

“And then Dudley reacts defensively, exacerbated by the fact that  _he’s_ constantly grieving nowadays…”

“Sure.”

“And then she closes off, and they both get more upset, and… it’s a vicious cycle,” she finished. 

“You seem to do a good job navigating it.”

“I’m trying my hardest. I don’t always say the right thing,” she admitted.

“Sometimes there is no right thing.”

She looked at him soberly. “That is so true.”

“When did Dudley tell you Harry was a wizard?” Draco asked, lowering his voice.

“A few weeks after he proposed. He felt like I needed to know, not just because of Harry, but because magic runs in the family. He wanted me to understand that we could have a child with… magic powers.” She said it with awe in her voice, and Draco found himself smiling.

“That is a possibility.”

“Apparently Harry explained to him how magic is hereditary, but it can sometimes skip generations, and since Dudley’s aunt – Harry’s mum – was magical, magic runs in Dudley’s family line, even if neither his mother nor either of his maternal grandparents had it.”

Draco nodded. “Yes. The theory now is that non-magical children born to magical parents – we call them Squibs – still have the ability to pass on magic to their descendants. They often marry Muggles – non-magical people – and have children, and sometimes generations down the line the magical ability surfaces again. We call them Muggleborns, because they’re witches or wizards born to Muggle parents. But in truth they are descended from magical lines.”

“Yes, sort of like a recessive gene, I suppose,” she mused. Draco only nodded, assuming she was right. He knew very little about the Muggle study of genetics. “Anyway, Dudley felt like, before we got married, I ought to know what I was getting into. There’s no guarantee of course, but there is the possibility.”

“And what did you think of all that he told you?”

“Oh, I was thrilled,” said Allison, her wide smile making it clear that she was telling the truth. “To think that there’s…  _magic_ in the world? It was the sort of thing I only dreamed of as a child. Something I had hoped was true. To find out it was real… Well, honestly, I thought he was joking at first. But he brought me to visit Harry. I met Kreacher, and saw all those moving photographs hanging in the hallway, and after dinner Harry even cast a spell and had the cutlery do a little song and dance for me right there on the table.” She laughed delightedly. “It was amazing. I knew it couldn’t possibly be a hoax.”

“Had you met Harry before that?”

“Oh yes. But he’d only ever come to Dudley’s to have dinner with us. He’d never invited us over to his, and now I knew why. He couldn’t. Not until I knew that magic was real.”

“Sounds like you’re open to the idea of having a magical child.”

“Certainly,” she said. “I think it would be very exciting. I imagine there would be some challenges of course. But Harry has assured me that he will help us if we need it. So… I’ll happily take whatever comes, honestly.”

Draco smiled softly. “It doesn’t surprise me that Harry would offer to help.”

“No,” she said, looking at him knowingly. “He is incredibly generous. I noticed that from the beginning.”

Draco nodded. “He’s always been that way.”

“That’s what Dudley says too. Not that…” She trailed off, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Not that Harry had much to be generous  _with_ , growing up, as I understand it.”

“Your husband told you about… that?”

“Yes. He’s always been forthright with me. And he wanted me to understand the family dynamics, once it got serious between us. He wanted me to understand why things between Harry and Dudley’s parents were so strained, even though Harry had been raised by them as well.”

“And what was your reaction?”

“I was… disturbed, to say the least.”

“As was I, when Harry told me the details.”

“It’s quite upsetting,” Allison agreed, her face grim. “Even just hearing how Dudley was encouraged to treat his cousin. He truly regrets it, all of it. He’s worked his whole adult life to make it right. I could see that, and Harry assured me it was true, and that helped me come to terms with Dudley’s part in it. He was a child too, then, and in a way their manipulation of him, teaching him to be selfish and cruel, was its own kind of abuse.”

“Hm,” Draco hummed noncommittally. He wasn’t sure he entirely agreed with that. Vernon and Petunia clearly weren’t going to win any Parent of the Year awards, but he knew full well he would have rather been Dudley in that household than Harry.

Then again, Dudley was Allison’s husband, and a certain amount of empathy for your spouse was important to have. He couldn’t fault her for that.

“It was hard to reconcile that knowledge of Petunia and Vernon, though,” she went on. “They were so kind to me, welcoming. I felt like part of the family immediately. Knowing that they’d done… all that, to a child…” She sighed. “But then Harry told me that I shouldn’t let that history cloud my relationship with them. He wanted me to be able to be close to my future in-laws. He didn’t want to drive a wedge between us.” She shook her head. “Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Draco said softly.

“He’s a true gem, you know. I feel very honored to call him family.” 

“Me too,” Draco replied, before realizing what he’d said. “I mean…” He cleared his throat. “I’m honored to call him my… boyfriend,” he finished lamely.

“Sure, of course,” she said, her eyes twinkling at him. Draco could swear her smile seemed smug for a moment. “In truth,” she added after a pause, “I’m very glad he’s found someone, someone who will really be  _there_ for him. He needs that, though he’ll hardy admit it.”

Draco nodded. “I know he does. I’m very glad to be that person.”

“I know he has close friends and a whole wizard family that cares deeply for him,” she went on. “It’s not that he doesn’t have people, it’s just… It’s not the same. He needs someone who will put him above everyone else. Everyone deserves that, don’t you think?”

“I do.”

“Parents should be that for their children too, but not all of them do. Harry essentially never  _had_ proper parents. It’s unfair, really.”

“Yes, it is,” said Draco quietly. “But, believe it or not, that was something that sort of connected us. I have parents, mind you, just not… very supportive ones. Especially now. The older I get, the less they seem to approve of my choices.”

Allison gave a dry, breathy laugh, staring down at her hands. “I relate to that to a rather uncanny degree, actually. My parents have never really understood me or my ambitions. They never supported me in what I wanted to do, and I had to make my own way. It was very lonely.”

“Ambitions?” Draco asked.

“You know, university,” she said. “I’ve always loved science, and I decided I wanted to be a biochemist. My parents are working class, not a lot of education… not  _bad_ people at all. But they thought I should be content to live the same life they lived, and I wasn’t. So I went off on my own. I shouldn’t have expected them to pay for any of my education, I suppose. But I did hope they would believe in me.”

Draco nodded sadly. “That would be nice. But at that point you just have to decide to believe in yourself.”

“Yes,” Allison agreed. “And find others who will believe in you too. So that’s what I did. I decided to build myself a family, the kind that I would want. When I met Dudley…” She trailed off, blushing. “His faith in me… his  _awe_ of me, was unwavering. I’d never felt so special. And his kindness and humility helped me too. I had a few sharp edges, I think because I was always used to having to constantly defend myself. Being a woman in the sciences isn’t easy. He helped soften me a bit, made me less defensive, more confident.”

“He balances you.”

“Yes, exactly.”

 _Harry does that for me_ , he wanted to say, but he was a bit too embarrassed to. He’d just met the woman, and already he was baring his soul. He had to chock it up to her openness and this strange, emotional situation.

Still, he didn’t feel much like talking more about himself, so instead he asked her to explain exactly what a biochemist was. She was clearly surprised at the question but was happy to tell him about her studies and her career in research. She was just explaining to him about something called “toxicology” when Harry entered the lounge, and she paused as both she and Draco looked up at him automatically.

“Hi, Harry,” she said. “Everything all right?”

“Yes, of course,” said Harry. “Don’t let me interrupt.” He sat himself beside Draco, who immediately took his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“We’re just making conversation,” said Allison. “I’m boring Draco with the details of my job.”

“It’s not boring at all, actually,” said Draco. “A lot of it sound almost like Potions, which is my specialty.”

“Potions!” Allison exclaimed, before lowering her voice and displaying a sheepish grin. “Now  _that_ sounds interesting.”

Draco glanced at Harry, silently asking how he was with a raise of his eyebrows. Harry looked no worse for wear. His eyes were dry and his expression relaxed. Draco had no idea what the brunet was thinking at the moment.

“Go on then,” Harry said with a soft smile. “Tell Allison about Potions. I’m sure she’d be delighted to hear it.”

Trusting that this was what Harry really wanted him to do, Draco launched into an explanation, beginning with the very basics, and Allison leaned in, listening, riveted. Harry mostly remained silent, listening too, his hand never leaving Draco’s.

Draco hadn’t gotten much past the first year curriculum (Allison had quite a few questions) when the two other Dursleys returned from their walk. 

Petunia paused in the doorway, looking around at all of them, and said, immediately, “Who’s in there with him, then?” She was looking at Harry, and the other heads turned towards the brunet as well.

“A nurse came in to check on things. I left her to it,” he explained.

“Is she still there?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“So he’s likely all alone in there? You just left him there?” she asked, sounding more than a little shrill.

Aunt and nephew stared at each other a moment as everyone else was silent and frozen. Draco wasn’t sure what to do. If Petunia was about to berate Harry openly, he wasn’t sure he was capable of standing for it.

But before either Draco or Dudley could step in, Harry stood, looking his aunt square in the eyes.

“I’m sorry, Petunia,” he said. “You’re right. He shouldn’t be alone right now. Let’s all go in and keep him company, yeah?”

Petunia trembled before them, eyes glistening, and said, her voice a rasp, “Yes. All right.”

She turned and walked out of the lounge. The two couples, after various exchanges of glances were shared, followed her back to Vernon’s hospital room.

The afternoon that followed was a strange one. There was a great deal of stilted, quiet conversation around the hospital bed, punctuated with pockets of weighty silence that felt impossible to fill. Dudley paced the room quite a bit, seeming to have difficulty actually looking at his father in the bed. Petunia, on the other hand, seemed unable to take her eyes off of Vernon, and barely participated in the conversation at all. Harry stayed glued to Draco’s side, a hand on him in some way at all times. Draco made sure to stay pressed firmly against him, making it clear it he wasn’t going anywhere. Occasionally he would lock eyes with Allison, and she would give him a reassuring smile.

He smiled back, so very glad that she was there.

As time wore on Draco could feel Harry getting restless. His legs jiggling or his fingers tapping, his eyes glancing longingly out of the window every now and then.

It was when he gave Draco an unmistakably helpless look that Draco realized Harry wanted him to find some way to extricate the two of them. Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe he just didn’t have it in him.

So Draco turned to Harry, putting a hand on his thigh and said, quietly, “I’m sorry, love. But I was supposed to remind you that we have to leave by four.”

Harry looked at him, his posture relaxing just a fraction. “That’s right. Thank you.” He looked at Dudley. “I’m sorry. We… have a commitment this evening. So we’re going to have to head out.”

Dudley nodded. “Right. Of course. Thank you for coming. It means a lot.”

Hugs and kisses were exchanged, even between Harry and Petunia, though the latter didn’t say much by way of goodbye. Allison embraced Draco warmly and told him to stay in touch and that he was welcome at their home anytime. Draco thanked her and told her the same.

Harry was practically vibrating as they made their way down the hall, gripping Draco’s hand tightly, exuding tension like a caged animal. When they mercifully reached the automatic doors of the hospital entrance and stepped into the cloudy summer afternoon, Harry immediately went to a nearby bench and put his head between his knees. Draco followed him, crouching down in front of him and putting a hand on his back.

“Harry?”

“Sorry,” Harry said looking up at Draco. His face was taut and drawn. “I just couldn’t take it anymore. I don’t know why. I just had to get out of there.”

“It’s all right,” said Draco.

“Thank you for reading my cues. I couldn’t even… I was just so overwhelmed.”

“It’s fine. I understood.”

“Was it obvious to the others, do you think? That I was just making a run for it?”

“I don’t think so. But even if it was, you had every right to leave. It was good of you to come here at all.”

“Dudley and Allison see it that way. I don’t know about Petunia.”

“Let’s not worry about Petunia, shall we? She wasn’t paying much attention anyway. She probably bought the excuse about the previous commitment out of sheer distraction.”

Harry grimaced. “I don’t think I can make it to Pansy’s tonight.”

“I know, Harry. I figured.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. There will be other parties. And Pansy will understand, especially once she hears the circumstances.”

“I was looking forward to it. I honestly was.”

“I know. But right now I think the best thing is for us to go home and get some rest, yeah? Just… stop worrying about things and relax for a little while? What do you think?”

Harry heaved a heavy sigh. “That sounds good.”

“Shall I Apparate you home? The wards let me directly inside Grimmauld now, right?”

“The renovators are still there,” Harry said. “We won’t get much peace and quiet.”

Draco nodded slowly. “All right. Well, we could go to the manor. The elves would be very happy to dote on us.” Harry hadn’t been to the manor yet, not since all those years ago, during the war. He wasn’t entirely sure how Harry would feel about it. But it was Draco’s home, and he was bound to have to visit sometime.

Harry showed no hesitation when he nodded. “I’d like that.”

“Good. Do you need a few more minutes here?” Harry still looked a bit pale.

“No. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

***

Draco decided to settle Harry in the sitting room of his master suite. It was cozier than any of the parlors downstairs, much more intimate. But he felt that this was what Harry needed right now, and the sofa was wide and plush. Harry didn’t hesitate to lie down, removing his glasses and putting them on the side table. Draco got him a cushion for his head and made sure he was comfortable before joining him on the sofa, lifting Harry’s legs so he could sit with them draped across his lap. He removed Harry’s shoes and tossed them on the floor, making the brunet smile.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure. I like taking things off of you,” Draco joked, earning him another smile. He removed his shoes as well, letting himself relax. They were silent for a few minutes, Harry closing his eyes and Draco enjoying the weight of Harry’s legs on him.

“Would you like something to eat?” Draco asked into the silence.

Harry shook his head before adjusting his neck against the cushion. “No, I’m fine.”

Draco stared down at him, one hand running lightly over his thigh, hoping to soothe him. “You never ended up having any lunch,” he said gently.

“That’s true.”

“So…” Draco began. But he didn’t know what to say. He realized he was in totally uncharted waters here. He didn’t yet know what Harry needed at a time like this. He didn’t know if he should push him to eat or let it be. He didn’t know if he should say something, try to get Harry to talk about what he was feeling, or if he was better off remaining silent and let Harry speak in his own time.

“Well, you can just let me know if you get hungry,” he settled on, after a pause. “The house elves will make you whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. He took Draco’s hand, the one that was resting on Harry’s thigh, and intertwined their fingers. “And thank you for being there today. I don’t think I could have done it on my own.”

“Of course. I wanted to be there with you. I just wish…” He trailed off, not knowing if he should actually say what he was thinking.

“You wish what, Draco?” Harry asked through half-lidded eyes.

“I wish I could do more. I wish I knew what you need now.”

Harry’s hand tightened around his. “This, right here, is everything I need.”

“All right. Good then.” Draco took a deep breath and allowed himself to relax fully. He had been so sure, for a moment, that he was going to bollocks it all up. But he had to remember that this was Harry, and that all he ever had to do was be honest. He never had to walk on eggshells.

“You and Allison seemed to get on,” Harry remarked after they’d spent a little while longer in silence. 

Draco smiled. “I like her. She’s good for Dudley. And it’s clear she’s a good friend to you as well.”

“She is,” Harry said. “She was a big part of getting my relationship with Dudley to a better place. He always had good intentions about making things right with me, but he didn’t always express himself very well. And it was hard for me to trust him. When he met Allison, he became different, more… I don’t know, sensitive, I guess. Not that he would appreciate me saying that.” He threw Draco a grin. “But it’s the truth. And once she had insider knowledge of our family and our history and all that, she was sort of a bridge between us. I don’t know this for sure, but I think behind closed doors she helped him get more comfortable with the fact that I was gay. Or at least helped him not use so much derogatory language in front of me.”

“He had a tendency to do that before?”

“Oh yes. Referring to me as a poof, or other things. Or making jokes. Just ignorant shit. Because he was uncomfortable, I think, and he had no idea how to connect to me… I don’t know. It made me not want to be around him very much, for obvious reasons. But after Allison got involved, he was much better. I could actually enjoy his company on occasion.”

“That’s a step in the right direction, at least.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I  _do_ think he cares about you,” said Draco. “From what I saw today. He was defending you a lot. To your aunt.”

Harry snorted. “Yes, well, she was in fine form today, wasn’t she?”

“I won’t pretend I particularly enjoyed my interactions with her.”

“So diplomatic, you are,” Harry replied, chuckling. “Much more so than me.”

“I thought you handled her quite well today.”

“Thank you. I was certainly putting in the effort.”

“I could tell.”

“I just tried to remember that at least this was better than her swinging a frying pan at my head.” He said it with a dry laugh, almost like it was a joke. But Draco had a feeling it wasn’t, actually.

He stared at Harry, wondering what to say.

“And I also tried to remember that her husband was dying, and that’s an awful thing to have to go through,” he went on. “Whatever I feel about Vernon as a person, she loved him. She made a life with him. And it’s horrible to imagine losing that, losing that person. All I had to do was think about how painful it would be if something happened to you like that, and it was easy to find compassion.”

Sensing some distress, Draco lifted Harry’s hand to his lips and kissed his palm. “Good thing I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “So you don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“Thank Merlin,” Harry said. “Because I really can’t bear to think about it.”

They were quiet again, Draco resting both of their hands in Harry’s lap and Harry closing his eyes. Draco wondered if the brunet was going to take a nap, and also if he’d be welcome to snuggle up and join him. But then Harry spoke.

“I barely said anything, you know. Even when you’d left me alone with him.” He opened his eyes and looked at Draco.

“To Vernon?”

Harry nodded. “I couldn’t think of anything to say. I had no words of love to give, because there was never any love between us. And it’s not even like I could tell him I forgive him, not when I know he isn’t sorry, when I know he would do it all over again the exact same way if given the chance. So what was I supposed to do, spout hatred and vitriol to a man dying in a hospital bed? There wasn’t any point in that.  _That_ wasn’t going to make me feel better.”

Draco nodded slowly, taking in Harry’s words. “No, you’re right. There isn’t much to say, in that situation.”

“I’m not even sure why I went today. I guess because Dudley asked me, and I did believe it would help to have me there for a little while. But I also think I went for myself. I guess I thought maybe when I saw him I could find some way to forgive him. Or at least get closure, something. But I don’t feel any closure. I just feel… sad, and I don’t even know  _why_ I feel sad.” He blinked rapidly a moment, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “But I do.” A tear spilled over, and he wiped it from his cheek quickly. “I don’t  _want_ to cry for a man who hated me. I don’t want to mourn the man who made my childhood miserable.” He looked at Draco with a determined set to his jaw, and Draco could see all the tears Harry was fighting back. “But I guess I am anyway.”

Draco thought about that while Harry took a few measured breaths. “I think maybe it’s more complicated than that,” he said. “There are all sorts of reasons that your uncle dying could make you sad that have nothing to do with him.”

“You think so?” Harry asked softly.

Draco nodded. “You’ve lost a lot of people in your life. Too many, really. This happens to be someone you were never close to but it can still bring all that grief back, from the war, from  _before_ the war. Your parents, your godfather, Dumbledore. Do we ever really get over those kinds of losses completely? I don’t think so. I think we carry them with us, and even though it’s manageable day to day, they can sneak up on us. Especially when another person dies. It can bring up all sorts of feelings we didn’t even know were buried. It’s happened to me before.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, his voice thick but his tone hopeful.

Draco nodded. “Sure. It happened to me a couple of years ago when one of Astoria’s cousins died. I didn’t even know him. But he was young. His death was an accident, unexpected. And the whole time we were at the funeral all I could think about was Vincent and losing him in that Fiendfyre and…” He shook his head. “I barely kept it together. I remember my father looking at me like I’d lost my mind. But I couldn’t seem to help it. I felt like Vince’s death had just happened, the sense of loss was so strong. It was almost like I was having flashbacks or something.”

“That’s happened to me before, too,” Harry said, sounding a little calmer. “It used to happen a lot more. Even little things would trigger it. But it sort of went away. I guess I figured I was over all of it, but maybe not.”

“I don’t think it ever fully goes away. So I think that could be part of what you’re feeling,” said Draco. “And there’s also the possibility…” He hesitated, wondering if he should even say what he was thinking.

“What possibility?” Harry pressed.

“Well – and I might be completely off-track here – there’s also the fact that Vernon Dursley took your childhood from you, in a sense. He took a  _good_ childhood from you, anyway. He was supposed to be a surrogate father, and he wasn’t. He was supposed to love you and make you feel safe, but he didn’t. And now he’s going to die, without ever making any of that right. You’ll never get the childhood you deserved.” Harry stared at him, the thick layer of tears returning to his eyes. “And maybe… maybe you’re mourning that loss too.”

More tears spilled over onto Harry’s cheeks, and Draco knew he’d hit the mark. But he almost regretted it, because the last thing he wanted was to make Harry more upset rather than less.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No,” Harry insisted, his voice rough. “It just hurts because it’s true.” He put his hand over his eyes, mouth twisting, and Draco felt his own eyes prick with remorse.

“Harry,” he said softly. Trusting his instincts, he leaned forward, towards Harry, stretching out until he was lying down next to him fully. Harry immediately turned towards him, and Draco took him in his arms, holding him tight. Harry wept quietly into his neck, one fist clutching the back of Draco’s shirt like a lifeline. Draco said nothing, only held him, his hand making circles on Harry’s broad back the same way he would comfort a child. A few tears of his own slipped from his eyes, but they were easy to ignore.

They remained that way for a long time, long after Harry’s breathing had evened out and his sobs had faded. It was long enough for Draco to drift, remembering how good it felt to be this close to him, how  _right._ They fit so well, body to body, and Draco had to remind himself to not let his mind wander into the realm of the carnal. It was difficult, because Harry felt so solid in his arms and smelled so good.

As agreed, they hadn’t done anything sexual in the past couple of weeks. It was working well for them, for the time being. It encouraged them to be creative, to think of other things to do together, to share new experiences. It encouraged them to talk, and that was welcome too. There were plenty of small touches and plenty of kisses, but those felt sweet, new, almost cautious. They were all simply expressions of affection rather than some intended prelude to sex. And Draco was fine with that. It was what he wanted.

Except now Harry had pulled back and was looking at him, a certain something in his face, a darkness in his gaze, that made Draco’s heart start to pound and his cock start to fill. Which was very inconvenient, considering the circumstances.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, brushing a thumb over Harry’s cheek.

“Much,” Harry breathed. “That was what I needed, I think. I feel… lighter.”

“Good.” Draco kissed his forehead, trying to keep things chaste. “Shall I sit up again, let you rest?”

“No,” said Harry, a hand tightening against his ribcage, holding him in place. “I like you right here.”

“All right.” He let a hand slide to the dip of Harry’s waist and found, with the shirt and jumper riding up the way it was, there was a little patch of warm, bronze skin for Draco to brush over with his fingers. It was impossible to resist, and his hand drifted, as if of its own accord, up under Harry’s shirt, where he could feel the familiar roughness of a few of the small scars on his back. Harry’s breath hitched.

“Is this all right?” Draco asked softly. He didn’t want to cross a line with Harry accidentally, especially not on such an emotional day.

But Harry simply ran a caressing hand across Draco’s back and murmured, “Yes. It’s more than all right.”

Draco relaxed, letting his fingers trace the scars and simply enjoying the memories they induced. He really did know just about every inch of Harry, and it felt like a gift to touch just this little piece of him now.

“I missed these,” he found himself saying, just as Harry’s hand snuck up under Draco’s shirt as well.

“These?”

“Scars. Your scars.”

Harry snorted lightly. “My scars? Really? Why?”

“Because I know them. And they’re yours.” He felt his face heat, knowing how sappy that sounded. “I just… like them,” he finished, burying his face in Harry’s neck temporarily to manage his embarrassment.

“Who knew you were such a romantic, Draco Malfoy?” Harry said, sounding both loving and amused.

Draco lifted his head enough for Harry to see him roll his eyes, then buried his face in Harry’s neck again. The brunet laughed.

“If you want to know the truth,” Harry said in Draco’s ear. “I knew. I knew all along. Or I at least had my suspicions.”

Draco looked up at him again, wondering what that meant. “And what, pray tell, gave you such suspicions?” he asked.

“The things you said, when we were together the first time,” replied Harry, his eyes traveling over Draco’s face. “I think sometimes you didn’t even realize what you were saying. But there was something about it… You would say something, and it would just… hit me, like a punch except… it was sweetness instead of pain. And it just made me fall more in love with you every time.”

“Like what?” Draco couldn’t remember most of what he’d said to Harry. They’d been together so much, had so many idle conversations, shared so many words in intimate moments, he really had no idea what exactly Harry was referring to.

“Like that night, the first time I ever fingered you, when you wanted me to take off my pants because you wanted to see all of me. And you said you always wanted to see all of me.”

Draco squirmed a little. He remembered that moment clearly, which was almost unfortunate, because it put him in mind of Harry naked, of Harry’s mouth and hands on him. And that wasn’t helping him with the semi-hard erection he was still sporting. “I was just being honest,” he said.

“Exactly,” said Harry. “That was what did it for me. It was so…  _real_. You weren’t trying to seduce me or… It wasn’t part of some game we were playing. You were just… telling me what you felt. And what you felt was that you wanted all of me, all the time. I couldn’t help but feel that you were talking about more than just seeing me naked. It felt like you were talking about  _everything._ And I’ve never felt like that, honestly. Like someone wanted to see all of me rather than just the pieces that they liked, the pieces that were pretty.”

Draco smiled, his fingers dancing over Harry’s back, getting bolder under the fabric. “I told you. I love your scars. The physical ones, and the figurative ones.”

Harry leaned in and kissed the side of Draco’s mouth. Draco closed his eyes, savoring it. “But you understand what I’m saying. You’re a romantic.”

“Yes, perhaps,” said Draco, still sounding a bit skeptical.

“Let’s not forget the time you said that you and I were inevitable.”

Those words struck something in Draco, and he could see that clearly too, suddenly: Grimmauld Place, a bottle of Chianti, Harry’s sheepish expression.

“I wanted you to stop feeling guilty about Francesca, because I was never attracted to her. And because our attraction was so strong that I felt it was always going to bring us together. I didn’t think it would do any good to dwell on guilt when everything unfolded the way it was always going to unfold.”

“So you believed it, when you said we were inevitable?”

Draco watched Harry, the hope in his eyes, the vulnerability there. “Yes. I believed it.”

“Do you, still?”

Draco traced a finger along Harry’s brow and down to his cheek. “Yes. Now more than ever.”

Harry’s eyes drifted to Draco’ mouth, then found their way back to Draco’s gaze. “Me too,” he said, and kissed him.

It was slow and sweet, but with a restrained ardor that Draco found  _not_ very chaste at all. He moaned and Harry took advantage, slipping his tongue inside. It was cautious, yet somehow all the more seductive for it, and Draco couldn’t help himself. He let his own tongue meet Harry’s, and he moaned again. It was when Harry pressed even more closely to him, grinding their clothed but quickly hardening cocks together, that he made himself pull away.

“Harry…” he said, intending to make it a warning, though the rather needy tone of his voice ruined it.

“Should we stop?” Harry asked him, though his pupils were blown wide and his hips were still grinding, perhaps unconsciously, against Draco’s. “Do you need to stop?”

“I…” Draco knew where this was going. He’d be a fool not to realize. And yet… “Maybe just… a little more.”

“A little more?” Harry asked him breathlessly, a hand coming to grip Draco’s arse. He squeezed, pressing them together again, so close that the fire that ripped through Draco’s erection was almost painful in its intensity. “Like this?”

“Yes,” Draco moaned, finding Harry’s mouth with his own once again. Gods, but he had missed this part too. He had missed Harry’s body so much, and the things Harry could make him feel. He kissed Harry messily, passionately, and Harry kissed him back, and they were suddenly rutting against each other with abandon. 

The friction was intense, and good, and Draco’s head was spinning, and yet it still wasn’t enough. He heard Harry let out a frustrated growl and knew he wasn’t alone.

“More?” the brunet asked, nipping at Draco’s jaw.

“More,” Draco answered, and reached down between them to feel Harry’s erection through his jeans. It was twitching, and so hard, and as he rubbed his hand along it Harry threw his head back and moaned, and Draco knew there was no going back. He was going to make Harry come. “Can I touch you?” he asked. 

“Oh, Gods,  _please,_ Draco,” Harry said. “Please touch me. I’ve been waiting so long for you.”

And his voice really did sound like he had been waiting, so desperate for him, that Draco thought it possible he would come in his pants merely from the sound of Harry’s voice alone. But he wanted his hands on Harry, and Harry’s hands on him, so he undid the button of Harry’s jeans, and the button of his own, and Harry whispered, “Yes,  _yes_ ,” encouraging him as he unzipped Harry’s fly. Harry reached to unzip Draco as well, and suddenly they were both free and groaning.

Looking down, he could see both of their hard cocks pressed together, Harry’s just a little darker, but both of them angry and red, leaking copious amounts of precum that intermingled as the tips rubbed against each other. Their hands overlapped naturally as they both gripped around them, moving together, and it was glorious, pure pleasure.

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco moaned, and he knew neither of them were going to last long. 

They snogged messily again, but seemed torn between wanting each other’s mouths and wanting to watch their hands move across their aligned cocks. It was such an incredible sight, with their bollocks pressing together too, already tightening, ready for orgasm. 

“Draco,” Harry breathed. “I’m going to…”

“Me too, Harry,” Draco moaned against his mouth. “ _Gods_ , me too.” He met Harry’s eyes, dark and beautiful, and he saw Harry’s orgasm in that gaze before he even felt it in his hand, and it was enough to take him over the edge.

They spurted together, coating their hands, and their eyes stayed locked as they came and came, barely able to breathe, it was so good.

When they were finally spent, they kissed lazily for a long time, before Harry eventually snatched up his wand and cleaned them off. They tucked themselves away but didn’t bother doing up their jeans. Both of them were sated and in no particular hurry to do much of anything, it seemed. 

After a few more minutes of quiet drifting, with Draco’s face buried in Harry’s neck, Draco pulled away, wanting to get a good look at the brunet’s face.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Harry smiled at him. “Very much so. Are you?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “Same. Although I hadn’t been expecting that, today.”

Harry nodded, running a hand through Draco’s hair. “I know that wasn’t… part of your plan,” said Harry. “I know you had an idea that we would take things slow.”

Draco chuckled. “Well, I can hardly complain, can I? That was… mind-blowing.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

“The tension was bound to break sometime,” Draco pointed out. “And I don’t think taking it slow means not moving forward at all.”

“I’m so attracted to you I can barely think straight most of the time,” Harry said. “And months without you… I couldn’t really help myself.” His smile was sheepish, and Draco kissed him thoroughly.

“It’s all right, Harry. It’s like I said, I’m not exactly complaining. I just didn’t want… you know, to take advantage of you, on this day of all days.”

Harry was quiet, considering that. “That’s not how it felt to me. It felt like getting to finally be close to you again, in a way I’ve been craving for so long. I know I’m a bit emotional, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. It doesn’t change how much I want you.”

“I know that, Harry. I just want to make sure I’m taking care of you.”

“You are,” Harry answered emphatically. “Gods, I honestly don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here. It makes all the difference to me. And I know it’s a lot to ask. It’s only two weeks in, really, and I’ve already put so much on you.”

“Don’t go there,” Draco told him gently. “You don’t even need to go down that road. This is how it works. Sometimes one of us needs more than the other. Merlin knows how much you were there for me this past year, how much you supported me, let me be ridiculous and insecure and confused… I’ve never felt more supported in my life. So let me be that for you, now, when you need it.”

To Draco’s surprise, Harry chuckled. “This isn’t like any relationship I’ve ever seen before. It seems like we’re doing almost everything out of order. Or at least not the order most people do things.”

Draco laughed too. “Well, who ever said we had to be conventional? The way I see it, we don’t have to follow some set plan or model if we don’t want to. We just need to make sure we have everything that we need from each other. That’s enough for me.”

“I… I agree,” Harry said cautiously. “But I also remember what you said, about being honest and letting it build naturally. I want to make sure we’re doing that. You seemed to have a plan in place and I thought it was a good one.”

“Sure. But it building naturally doesn’t always mean we do things exactly according to plan,” Draco said. “Sometimes the natural progression of things doesn’t follow the plan at all.” Harry stared at him, looking a bit confused, and Draco thought a moment about how he wanted to explain. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the past few years: getting my Potions mastery, getting married, trying to start a family… Those were all part of my… ‘life plan,’ for lack of a better term. It was basically a step-by-step progression. And yet half of those things didn’t work out. More than half ended up being not good for me at all. And for a while I thought it meant that I had failed, because things were  _supposed_ to go according to plan. But now I have some perspective, and I see that it’s a natural part of life that plans fall through, in one way or another. Things go wrong, whether it’s because of your own mistakes, other people’s choices, or crises you never expected. Friends betray you and loved ones die. But there are good things too, like when the perfect opportunity comes along when you weren’t even asking for it, or when you connect with someone in a way you never expected…” He paused, enjoying Harry’s small smile at that. “You have to react to what’s in front of you. It’s like you said over Christmas. The world isn’t some giant chess board. Life, relationships, aren’t some ongoing game of chess, of moves and countermoves, where you can see the board and what comes next, where you can develop a stratagem you feel confident will work. Most of the time, strict stratagems crumble under all that unpredictability. And I think we’re better off accepting it than fighting against it.”

“Well, you know I of all people would agree with that,” said Harry, his smile turning wry. “What you’re describing has been most of my experience with life, honestly. At the same time, though, I do like the idea of making a plan. Especially with you. I want to feel like we’re moving forward and we at least have a sense of where we’re going. Otherwise, how do we move forward at all?”

Draco considered that, knowing Harry had a point. “Yes, you’re right. You can’t move through life not making any plans at all. Otherwise you’re just… passive, letting things happen to you.” He thought some more. “I suppose what it comes down to is that you have to be aware that not all of your plans will work out, and you should make sure to have someone at your side you can count on when it falls apart.”

He saw Harry’s eyes soften. “So what you’re saying is, we should make plans, but always be prepared to be adaptable, because there is always uncertainty.”

“Yes, that’s part of it,” said Draco. “And that… It…” He hesitated, hoping he wasn’t being too forward, making too many assumptions. “It’s important to have people you can count on. The more the better. But everyone deserves someone, at least. And I suppose what I’m saying is that I’m one of those people, for you. Maybe even… I’d like to be the most important one, if you’ll let me.”

Harry clutched Draco’s hand tightly against his chest a moment. “I want that too. I want to be one of those people for you too. Even the most important one.” He glanced down at their clasped hands. “I think I’ve been worried, because this is so newly official and yet it feels so deep for me already. And I think what I’m realizing is that even though we’ve only just acknowledged all of it, it’s not really new. You’ve been one of the most important people in my life for quite a while now. Not just my lover. Someone I can trust with everything. It scares me a little. I don’t… trust easily. But after these past couple of weeks, after how much you’ve given me, and after how much trust you put in me this past year… I’m ready to trust you too. Completely. I do trust you completely. I’ll even go out and buy my own heart in a box to give you if that will prove it to you.”

Draco laughed, kissing his nose. “Not necessary. Just knowing it, just hearing you say it, is enough.” And it was.

Harry’s stomach growled, and both men laughed, almost startled.

“You  _are_  hungry,” said Draco. “I knew it.”

“I didn’t feel it, until just now,” Harry said. “But I suppose it would be good for me to eat something.”

“What would you like?”

“Something simple is fine.”

They both sat up, finally doing up their jeans properly, and Draco called Nixie and asked her to bring them a platter of bacon sandwiches and some butterbeer.

He was happy to see Harry digging into one immediately as they were served.

“How did you know I’d want bacon sandwiches?” he asked Draco, after taking a swig of butterbeer.

“You always make yourself a bacon sandwich when you want something simple,” said Draco.

Harry’s smile was small and a bit shy. “You’ve been paying attention, I suppose.”

“Yes,” said Draco. “To everything.” A hand reached up to play with Harry’s hair. “I know you.” Harry stared at him, the food on his plate forgotten. Draco poked him in the cheek. “Eat your sandwiches.”

And so Harry did.


	20. Lesson 20: Making Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER!!! I actually felt kind of bad about it at first, even though I was dealing with a lot and moving houses and generally being stressed out. I really wanted to write more than I had time for and I hated keeping you all waiting. But then I checked the word count on this monster and it's 28,000 words. No joke. So I'm like... you know what? I'm just going to be happy it's finally done! It's basically two chapters in one, sooo yay!
> 
> I packed a lot in here. I hope it's good. You'll just have to let me know :) I have to give a special shoutout to those who have been rereading the story and giving me new comments, whether it was once or on multiple chapters. You really boosted my writing energy and I don't think I'd be posting now if it wasn't for you. So thanks!!!
> 
> This is the final full chapter. There will be an epilogue coming soon (you know... as soon as I write it). I hope all the fluffiness of this makes you warm and happy. I feel like it's a final gift for you, as thanks for coming on this journey with me. It's been amazing. <3

Draco watched the lanky brunet as he sipped his coffee and wondered if he had made a huge mistake coming here. He’d thought he wanted a chance to speak to Kyle again, a chance to make things right and make sure that the man was doing ok after everything that had happened. But he never thought he’d actually get the chance.

But then Harry and Draco had attended another of Pansy’s parties, on the larger side, which included all of Draco’s Slytherin friends, and many of Pansy’s friends from the Ministry. Plus Lindsey and Kyle.

Draco had been surprised, to say the least, to see the Canadian wizard in attendance. He was less surprised to see that Kyle essentially avoided him and Harry all night, which was just as well as far as he was concerned. Harry was able to focus solely on getting to know Pansy and Theo in this new context, as friends, and Draco was able to facilitate the meeting and make sure that Harry was having a good time and being taken care of.

He did, later on in the evening, end up chatting briefly with Lindsey, in which she told him that Kyle was lacking a sense of closure. She thought it would be good if Kyle had the chance to talk with Draco privately at some point, get a few things off his chest. Draco, a few drinks in and feeling generous, said that he was open to the idea of sitting down with him, someplace public and neutral, where they could talk. Maybe it would be good to clear the air. 

Lindsey had passed that message along to Kyle and had helped arrange a meeting. And now here they were, sitting across from each other in a Muggle café in London, someplace they could be anonymous and talk freely. And it was just…

Awkward. It was awkward. Draco had no idea what to say. He was rather counting on Kyle to set the tone. But so far Kyle hadn’t said much of anything save for his initial words of greeting and a bit of small talk about how his current Ministry project was progressing. Now they were sitting in silence, and Draco kept wondering if he should wait for the other man to speak or if he should attempt to take some initiative.

He took a sip of his coffee and wondered how best to break the silence. But then Kyle spoke.

“So… Harry Potter, huh?”

Draco sucked in a slow breath. So, this was where they were starting. Interesting, and not what he expected. He let out a soft sigh.

“Harry Potter,” he said in confirmation.

Kyle chuckled drily, his mouth twisting a little. “It certainly explains some things.”

Draco turned that over in his mind for a moment or two, trying to figure out exactly what that meant. Was he talking about that interaction in the wine shop specifically? Or maybe it was broader, just about his and Harry’s long personal history that brought them to this point. He decided he had no idea.

“In what sense?” he asked.

Kyle snorted delicately. “In what sense…” He repeated. “Let’s see… In the sense that it’s Harry fucking Potter, I guess.”

Draco blinked at him, confused.

“It’s  _Harry Potter_ ,” Kyle said emphatically, as though Draco were dim. “You know, hot, fabulous, great in bed, saved the world  _more_ than once, if his various biographies are to be believed. I was never going to be able to compete with that, so…” He shrugged. “Fair enough. Touche. Well-played. Lucky you.”

Draco scratched his bottom lip with his thumb as he decided how to respond to that. He had the distinct feeling he should tread lightly here.

“You really think it’s about all that stuff?” he said quietly, carefully. “You really think I chose to be with him because he’s famous, or, even more crassly, because he’s good in bed? You think that’s what this is about?”

Kyle’s jaw twitched, and he looked away. “I’m sure he’s a wonderful person,” he said. 

Draco couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. “He is. But the point is… he’s also a  _person_.”

Kyle’s brow furrowed.

“He’s imperfect,” Draco went on. “He’s complicated. There are a thousand things to love about him, and a thousand things to find frustrating. Just like anyone else.”

Kyle snorted again. “Yeah, sure.”

“His fame was one of the reasons I walked away in the first place. I didn’t want to be in the spotlight. I would prefer we weren’t in the spotlight now. It’s something Harry and I both put up with, because we know we have to. And it’s worth it. But it’s definitely not the reason I’m with him.”

“Then why are you with him?”

“Is this really the conversation you want to have? I mean, honestly. Do you really want me to go into great detail about how we found each other and how we slowly fell in love and how he changed my life? Is that really going to help you?” It seemed to him Kyle was just torturing himself over this. How did this help him move on?

Kyle sighed, eyes rolling to the ceiling a moment. “No,” he said. “It’s not. I guess it just… When I heard who it was, when I heard it was Harry Potter, I felt… I can’t even describe it exactly. I felt relieved and frustrated at the same time. Relieved because, yeah, it’s Harry Potter, and of course you would choose him. Anyone in their right mind would. But at the same time…” He shook his head. “It’s going to sound stupid and childish and I  _realize_ that… But at the same time I felt like it wasn’t fair, like I never stood a chance, which I guess you as good as told me when you broke up with me. You said it was always going to be him, and you know… ok… yeah, I get that. And it makes sense. But that’s what frustrates me about it so much, because I’m frustrated with myself as much as I am with you. For thinking I could even compare… For not realizing from the beginning that you were out of my league and I just shouldn’t have even bothered in the first place.”

Draco shook his head, finding this “treading lightly” strategy to be more difficult in this conversation than he thought possible. Because Kyle was so off the mark that Draco didn’t even know how to steer him right, other than by being unflinchingly honest.

“This…” he said, tapping the table hard with a finger, “This… what you just said… the way you think.  _This_ is your biggest problem. There are no…  _leagues_. For Merlin’s sake. People aren’t inexplicably divided into groups of greater and lesser dateability or something. I mean, what are you even talking about when you talk about them anyway? Intelligence, attractiveness, kindness, ambition, success? What’s your measure, exactly? And even if it is all those things combined, you  _have_ all of that already, in spades. So what is it that makes you think you don’t measure up? I honestly don’t understand. And if you want to talk about what’s frustrating,  _that_ …  _that_ is frustrating. You don’t see yourself very clearly, and you spend a lot of time and energy thinking about all the ways you fall short, which doesn’t help you at all. So stop. Just… just  _stop_.”

Kyle stared at him wide-eyed a moment. Then he leaned forward on the table, his eyebrow tilting skeptically. “You’re going to sit here and insist I’m on par with Harry Potter?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “Because it’s not about being ‘on par’ or ‘not on par’ or whatever. I’m saying there’s no ‘par’ at all. There’s only… personal preference, and compatibility, and… chemistry. There’s history and good timing and… I mean… I don’t know. I don’t know why people fall in love with each other. But some people do and some people don’t. And sometimes people fall in love with more than one person and have to figure out what to do, and some people don’t fall in love at all, even with the person that it seems like on paper would be best for them. There is no formula, you know? So I guess what I’m saying is that on paper you and Harry are equals, in the sense that you’re both people who are wonderful and flawed and…  _people_ … and what it came down to was the fact that Harry and I have a deep and complicated history and have been enemies and friends and lovers and everything in between, and he understands me better than anyone, and I understand him, and we trust each other. And it’s a trust we’ve built for a long time. And yeah, he’s gorgeous and every time I look at him I get a bit dizzy and sort of ache all over and it’s… quite intense, and a bit frightening. And I’ve never felt this way about anyone. And that’s not something you manufacture. It just happens. And you and I… who knows what could have been, in other circumstances? It’s impossible to say. Maybe it would have worked out, maybe not. It came down to timing. That’s all.”

“So if Harry Potter didn’t exist, you would have chosen me? You would be with me?”

Draco stared at the table a moment. “It’s impossible to say. Would we have worked out in the long run? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I don’t know. I couldn’t possible predict such a thing. I was always pants at Divination.” That earned a small smile, at least. “But more than that… if Harry Potter didn’t exist, I don’t even know who I would be. He’s been a presence in my life for so long, both in good ways and in bad… but he helped shape who I am. I’m not sure I can imagine a world without him in it. Which I suppose is part of the point as well. I don’t know what to tell you, Kyle. I honestly don’t. Because I can’t sit here and  _not_ defend my relationship with Harry or my choice to be with him, but at the same time it’s important to me that you realize that you’re worthy of love, and that my choice had nothing to do with me being ‘out of your league’ or however you want to characterize it. Because that’s not it at all.”

“So you say.”

“You don’t believe me? You think I’m lying to make you feel better?”

Kyle looked away, shrugging. 

Draco leaned forward, over the table, suddenly determined to get to the bottom of this. “What did he say to you? Your boyfriend, back in Canada. What did he say that made you feel like you weren’t worth it, that you didn’t live up?  What did he say that has you so convinced that you should be lucky to take whatever some other bloke is willing to give you?”

Kyle picked at his fingernails, not meeting Draco’s eyes. “He didn’t say anything,” he answered softly. “It wasn’t what he said. It was what he did. It was that, two weeks after I’d told him I was moving out, moving to London, and that I was done with the relationship and with the way he had treated me… he met someone else. He started something with someone else. This guy… Marco. A mutual acquaintance of ours who was just… the epitome of hot and smart and…  _cool_ … and I just… He moved on so fast it was like he already had Marco waiting for him. And you know… I always suspected… I always thought Marco had an eye on him, you know? And I’d always had this gut feeling like if I wasn’t in the picture he’d go for Marco, because… who wouldn’t? And it was just… confirmation, you know? And I realized I didn’t matter to him. He didn’t even fucking  _care_ that I was moving away and leaving him after everything he’d done. It was almost like he was just happy to have me out of the way.”

Draco thought about that for while. He could see why Draco breaking up with Kyle and then starting something with Harry would feel like a repeat of the same thing Kyle had gone through with his ex. He could see why Kyle could find it especially hurtful. At the same time, though, the situations were different. He just didn’t know how to get Kyle to see that. “Are they still together?” he asked the brunet. “Your ex…”

“Evan.”

“Right, Evan. And Marco. Are they still together?”

Kyle shrugged. “I mean, probably. I don’t know.”

“So for all you know, it didn’t last. For all you know, Marco was just a rebound.”

Kyle scoffed. “I doubt it. He’s not the kind of guy you have a rebound with.”

Draco arched a brow skeptically. “I’m not sure there is a particular type of person that is completely immune from the rebound,” he said, and Kyle let out a surprised laugh. “And, frankly, someone who is hot and smart and cool sounds like just the sort of person to have a rebound with if what you’re nursing is a bruised ego… or worse, a broken heart. If you just got dumped by the guy you were in a serious relationship with for three years, who you  _lived_ with. A guy who was smart and sexy but also kind, who supported you when things were difficult. Who took care of you. The guy you managed to drive away because of all your own baggage and because you acted like an arsehole when he decided he wanted to change careers and build a life that would satisfy him. And you just couldn’t live with it. And you’re insecure and scared and now he’s gone and you need someone to make you feel better. So you start sleeping with Marco. Because at least he’s hot and cool and he’s into you. And yeah… he’s not Kyle Bergeron. But he’s better than nothing. He’s better than feeling this alone.”

Kyle stared at him blankly.

“ _You_ left  _Evan_ , you know,” Draco said. “You left him. I’m not saying you didn’t have every right to. It sounds like the relationship was pretty toxic, especially towards the end. And I think it’s good you got out of Toronto for a while, even if you loved it there. I think it was good for you to strike out on your own and discover some new things. You made the right choice for you, and that’s a good thing. But you have to remember that you were the one doing the leaving. Evan didn’t reject you. He didn’t pick Marco over you. You ended it. And yes, he moved on quickly, for whatever reason. To cope or… because he’s just one of those people who doesn’t stay single for long. Or whatever. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you. It doesn’t mean he was happy you were leaving.”

“He told me to leave,” Kyle said. “He acted like he wanted me to leave.”

Draco shrugged. “People act all kinds of ways when they’re scared or hurt. But it is often just that: an act.”

Kyle shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“How did he say it, exactly?”

Kyle closed his eyes a moment, one hand scratching along his temple while the other clutched his coffee mug. “He said… He said… ‘If you want to leave, just leave. I don’t even fucking care anymore.’”

“Hmph,” said Draco. “Sounds like a lie to me.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I think it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says when they care a great deal, but they’re hurt and trying to save face.”

Kyle stared into his coffee. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“What did you say to him, when he said that?”

“I didn’t say much of anything. I was hurt, and angry, and just realizing that… I didn’t want to do it anymore. I didn’t want to fight with him anymore, and he was already pushing me out the door. I felt… done. With him, with everything. So I grabbed some essentials and went to Lindsey’s, and sent off my acceptance letter for the job at your Ministry the next day. And then I started planning my move to London. A few days later I went back to the apartment and started packing up my stuff, and that’s when I told him it was done, officially.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said, ‘Fine. Whatever.’ And then he left the apartment, didn’t come back. Even though I was there for hours, sorting through everything, packing it all up. Our entire life together, or my portion of it, anyway. He stayed away until after I’d left, and I haven’t seen him since. I heard through a mutual friend that he was seeing Marco, not long before I left Toronto. We never actually talked about it, and we never even really said goodbye.” He swirled a finger around the edge of his coffee mug and chewed on his lip. “It’s weird to think about how those were the last words he ever said to me: ‘Fine. Whatever.’ I mean… what a shitty way to end something, especially something that lasted three years.”

Draco nodded. “Yes. It’s a shame he couldn’t bring himself to at least say goodbye to you. But I imagine he left because it would be too difficult to watch you pack. He was probably in a lot of pain.”

“Yeah, well, so was I,” said Kyle. “And I know what you’re going to say, that yes, I was the one leaving. But he had a major hand in it. He never even tried to fight for me. For us.”

“I’m not saying it to blame you,” Draco said. “I’m only pointing out why he might have done and said the things he did and said, and why it has everything to do with him, and not with you. He was in pain, and was maybe even aware that he had brought a lot of it on himself, which is almost worse, in a way. There’s nothing so awful as being hurt and having everything go to shit and realizing that it was really your own doing.”

“You don’t even know if that’s how he was feeling,” Kyle said. “You don’t even know him.”

“No, you’re right. I’m making an educated guess.”

“He could very well have left because he was just tired of me and wanted me gone. He could have started something with Marco right away because he’d always wanted to, and he finally was free and…  _could_.”

“It’s possible,” said Draco. “But it seems unlikely to me.”

“Why do you keep insisting that it was because he was hurt and not because he just didn’t care about me?”

“And why do you keep insisting that it was just because he didn’t care about you?” Draco countered in a patient tone he could tell Kyle found a bit irritating. “When it’s impossible to know either way, why do you insist on believing the version of the story that will cause you the most pain? Why not choose to believe the version that could actually make you feel good about yourself?”

“Because…” Kyle said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Because always believing the versions of events you want to, just to… I don’t know, make yourself feel better, or to feed your ego or something, that’s… that’s just delusional.”

“Why?”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Yes. Or, more specifically, why is it more delusional to assume he loved you and was hurt by you leaving and then rebounded with Marco, rather than that he never loved you, even though he was with you for  _three_ _years_ and told you that he loved you? If anything, I think the former is more plausible, and therefore  _less_ delusional.”

“And I’m saying you weren’t there, and you don’t actually know the situation, and the other version seems more plausible to me. That’s all.”

“And I’m asking why.” Kyle stared at him blankly again. “I’m serious. Why do you think he never loved you? Why does that seem more likely to you?”

Kyle shrugged. “Because of the way he acted during the breakup, and the weeks leading up to it.”

“Most people aren’t at their best during a breakup,” Draco reminded him. “We’ve already established that it could have been an act.” Kyle rolled his eyes. “Did he tell you that he never loved you?”

“No.”

“Well, there you have it. And frankly, even if he had, he probably would have been lying to hurt you anyway.”

“Ok, now you’re just making shit up,” Kyle said, exasperated.

“Yeah, well, so are you.” Kyle crossed his arms and glared. Draco didn’t look away. “The only difference is, the shit you’re making up is the most hurtful version of events, most hurtful to  _you_. And I’m trying to figure out why.”

“I’m sure you already know,” Kyle said under his breath. “Since you know everything else.”

“I have a theory,” Draco admitted, after a moment.

Kyle snorted. “Of course you fucking do.”

“Because I’ve been there. I did the exact same thing to myself for a long time.”

That, Kyle obviously wasn’t expecting, because he eyed Draco sharply for a moment before shaking his head.

“I never told you what happened with my ex-wife, other than that she was unfaithful to me many times. The truth is, she was sleeping with my best friend from the beginning. She was in love with him, in fact, when she married me. I didn’t know that part though, not when the truth first came out. All I knew was that she was sleeping with Blaise and it had been happening for a long time, and quite frequently. Frequently enough that while Astoria and I were trying to get pregnant, Blaise was the one to impregnate her instead. She gave birth to his child, and I had no idea it was  _going_ to be his child until the day the child was born. It was quite a shock, as you can imagine.”

Kyle crossed his arms over his chest, but his eyes sparked with interest. “You didn’t know about the two of them, until then?”

“I had no idea,” Draco said. “Not a clue. You can imagine how stupid I felt. How utterly… foolish. That’s not even a strong enough word for it. You want to talk about delusional… I thought myself delusional for ever believing she loved me. And then it made me start wondering why, why she didn’t, why I couldn’t be enough for her. I thought I had given her everything she could possibly want and I couldn’t figure out what I missed. But I was convinced I had missed something. I blamed myself. I felt like a failure. It really fucked me up, you know?” He leaned forward over the table, and Kyle leaned forward too, automatically, to catch Draco’s lowered voice. “There is only one other person in the world who knows this, so I’m saying this to you in strictest confidence, understand?” Kyle nodded, looking confused, but also intrigued. “For months afterward…  _months_ … I was essentially impotent. I could barely get it up. I couldn’t perform. I couldn’t even  _imagine_ performing. I was totally humiliated, emasculated. I thought things, crazy, awful things, about myself, about my prowess as a lover, about my virility. I told myself a lot of cruel, hurtful things, things you wouldn’t believe…” He shook his head. He didn’t even really like thinking about how hard he had been on himself, those first few months. “It took me a long time to stop, and I didn’t get through it alone.”

Kyle thought that over. “Potter? He helped you?”

“Yes, quite a bit. Although there were others too. Pansy, Francesca, my other colleagues at Hogwarts, my students. And not even because they knew all the circumstances, but because they were kind to me and made me feel like I mattered, that I had something good to give to the world.”

“So you started listening to them, and stopped saying cruel things to yourself, and you got over it, eventually.”

“Yes…” Draco said, realizing that didn’t fully characterize the situation. “All of that was a big help. And there was also… It’s weird, but my father keeps popping into my head. Which shouldn’t make any sense, really, because he was being almost as cruel to me about my divorce as I was being to myself. But there was something about that, after a while, that sort of… lit a fire in me. Instead of believing him, I started to feel indignant. Like what right did he have to go blaming me for what Astoria had done  _to_ me? And that’s when things really started to shift. That’s when I started to see that I had done the best that I could in my marriage and that what had happened wasn’t my fault. And, more importantly than that, I started to believe that I deserved better. I had deserved better from Astoria and Blaise, and I deserved better from my father too.” He leaned back, and Kyle did the same. “I know you didn’t come here for a mind healing session from me or to hear my life story, but I do want… I’m sharing all this because what I want most is to see you believe that  _you_ deserved better. You deserved better than what Evan could give you.”

“You sound like Lindsey,” Kyle said. “I mean, she doesn’t say it the exact same way, but it’s pretty close.”

“What does she say?”

“That I did the right thing, leaving Evan, but that I have to  _know_ I did. That he wasn’t any good for me and that I was unhappy with him, and that I’m much happier now. Or at least, I could be, if I stopped letting Evan dictate what I think about myself or about relationships. She’s like… ‘You chose to leave him and now you have to move on. You can’t let him keep doing this to you.’” He chewed on his lip. “And I guess she’s right. I just don’t know  _how._ ”

“Well, Lindsey’s always been a smart woman,” Draco said. “As we both know. Someone worth listening to. And I would agree with what she says, obviously. Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s not about you letting Evan do this to you. Because  _Evan_ isn’t doing this to you. How can he be? He’s not here. He’s thousands of miles away.”

“Well, in the strictest sense yes. But it’s the memory of him that’s doing it. That’s her point.”

“Fair enough, except that your memory of Evan exists only in your own mind. So it’s not really him.”

Kyle blinked at him.

“It’s  _you_. You’re doing this to yourself. Evan isn’t actually doing anything.”

Kyle let out a dry laugh, his mouth twisting. “Great.”

“No, it is, actually,” said Draco. “Because it means you’re in complete control over whether or not you stop.”

Kyle huffed, sitting back a moment, arms crossed over his chest again. But he was quiet, and Draco could tell he was thinking about it. “All right, maybe,” he said after a minute. “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Draco. “And I actually  _do_. That’s the point I’m trying to make, I suppose. I know how hard it is. But I also know it’s possible. Because I did it.”

“But I’m not you,” said Kyle. “I don’t have… what you have.”

“And what do I have? What makes us so different?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle said, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t really explain it. Just… the way you think about things. The way you look at things. I don’t know how to be that way.”

“I don’t think you have to be just like me to start believing you deserve happiness. You just…” Draco paused, trying to put what he thought into words without it sounding stupid. “… have to be like yourself, while also believing that that’s enough. That that’s a good thing. I know, I know,” he said as Kyle gave him a look. “It’s easier said than done. But not impossible. Especially if you surround yourself with people who remind you that you’re worth it, who don’t put you down. That helps a lot. But, in the end… it doesn’t matter if you have a thousand people telling you you’re great. You have to stop telling yourself you’re not. You have to – to recognize those moments when what you’re saying to yourself is so cruel that you would never actually dare say it aloud to someone else. Those are the things that are holding you back. And if you can recognize that, even just pay attention to it when it happens, that does change things. And it also helps to remember that deep down, you  _do_ know you deserve happiness, because you have already made good choices that will help get you there. By moving to London, by taking a job where you could pursue your passions rather than be boxed in by a corporate agenda, by leaving a relationship that wasn’t good for you… You’ve done a lot of good things for yourself already. You  _knew_ you deserved better when you left Evan. That’s why you left, isn’t it?”

Kyle stared at him, then cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes.”

“So, in truth, you already know it. It’s just that, sometimes, you need help remembering. You need to let yourself believe it all the time.”

They were quiet for a bit while Kyle absorbed all that. Draco did his best to relax and exude patience, while inside he hoped he’d actually had an impact this time. Kyle sighed, finally, and spoke.

“I’ve never thought about it that way before,” he said quietly. Draco simply nodded and waited. “And it makes sense, you know. I mean it all sounds good, reasonable. I guess it’s just that it’s scary too. I’m pretty terrified of failure.”

“Me too,” said Draco.

“I’m scared of a lot of things. It’s something that’s always annoyed me about myself. That I’m not more brave. But… I don’t know. Recently… I mean, leaving Toronto, leaving Evan… that was pretty brave, wasn’t it?”

“It was incredibly brave,” said Draco. 

“So, that’s something.” He let out a slow breath. “That’s something, at least.”

“It’s more than just something, I think.”

Kyle looked at him. “You’re right that I didn’t come here for a mind healing session. I came here to tell you that… I don’t know. I guess to tell you that I understood why you chose Harry Potter and maybe to hear an explanation of why you were bothering with me in the first place. But I guess I don’t really need that anymore. I don’t know.” He looked at Draco expectantly, and Draco thought maybe he wanted the question answered anyway.

“I ‘bothered’ because I liked you. I was incredibly attracted to you, and I was at a point in my life when I was looking for something more serious than what I had before with other men,” Draco said. “At the time, it felt like perfect timing. It felt like the universe dropped you into my life at just the right moment. Which I realize, looking back on it now, is a lot of pressure to put on you and very selfish on my part. Self-absorbed, at least. Not to mention that what I wasn’t letting myself realize at the time was that I didn’t have closure from Harry. In fact, I was still in love with him. But that truth was so painful I couldn’t let myself see it. I was healing and growing in a lot of ways, but I still had more growing to do. And so I made a choice to start something with you that I wasn’t actually ready for. And that’s my biggest regret, because while what you and I had was really good, and I was happy, I couldn’t fully… be  _in_ it, if that makes any sense. I was holding myself back, and that wasn’t fair to you. The whole thing wasn’t fair to you. You deserved better from me as well. You deserved more than what I could give you, and for that, I’m very sorry. That I couldn’t give you what you deserve. I’m sorrier than I can really express. Because I hurt you, and I had no right to.”

Kyle nodded along, staring into his coffee mug. After it was clear Draco was finished, he answered. “Thank you for saying that. It… helps me understand. And I believe you now. And I guess… what I’ve been thinking about is how much time we spent talking about me, and how much I liked that.” He gave Draco a small smile that was both wry and sheepish. “So I guess I was being pretty self-absorbed too, because I wasn’t really paying attention to the fact that you were holding yourself back. I was enjoying being able to vent and be validated for everything that’s happened to me recently. I haven’t had a boyfriend I felt like I could be that honest with in… a long time. But it wasn’t really equal, was it? And I didn’t even know it. Maybe I was treating you more like my mind healer than my boyfriend.”

“Hmm,” Draco said, thinking that over. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s true. If it is, I think we both had a hand in making that so. It takes two, after all, right?” 

Kyle huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I guess.” He toyed with his coffee mug a little longer, then set it aside, meeting Draco’s eyes. “I’d rather that you didn’t regret it. Us, I mean. Because I don’t regret it, honestly. I’d rather think about it as a thing that happened that was mostly good, even if it didn’t last. Maybe it was something we needed, and we both learned a thing or two, and it can just be…” He shrugged. “… something that happened, you know? I think it would help me to think about it that way, and it would help me if I knew you didn’t have regrets.”

“Even if I hurt you?”

Kyle swallowed. “Yeah. Even then. That’s what I want. I get that you’re sorry you hurt me and that you didn’t mean to. But I don’t want to be someone else’s regret. I don’t like the way that feels.”

Draco watched him a moment. “Fair enough. Then I won’t regret it. I’ll let myself be glad it happened.”

“That’s what I want.”

“All right then.”

“And maybe, at some point, I can start to think of my relationship with Evan that way too. As something that happened, that was mostly good, especially at the beginning. I do have some good memories from those first couple of years. And even though it all went to shit, in the end…” He waved a hand.

“You still learned a lot?” Draco supplied. “So maybe you can be glad it happened, despite everything that went wrong?”

“Yeah, something like that,” said Kyle. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to say that, and it will actually be true.”

“I bet you will, sooner than you think.”

“We’ll see.”

That seemed a natural place to end things, and Kyle seemed to agree. They embraced quickly and said their goodbyes, and Kyle really did look calmer than when he had arrived. Draco was glad of that. There while there weren’t any promises exchanged of getting together again or of a future friendship, Draco couldn’t help but feel that they had settled things, and that maybe, some day, they could be friends. Time would tell.

***

Draco Apparated directly to Harry’s after he left the coffee shop. They didn’t have any specific plans in place, but Harry was aware that Draco was going to have coffee with Kyle that morning, and Draco felt like it was the right thing that he should spend some time with Harry afterwards. The brunet had been very understanding about the fact that Draco wanted to talk to Kyle and get closure, but it couldn’t hurt for Draco to still reassure Harry that all was well, to reaffirm that he was very happy with the choices he had made.

He arrived in the sitting room and found it empty. Figuring that Harry was in the kitchen making himself some lunch, as it was about that hour, he made his way down the hall.

When he heard voices, he paused, confused. Because he recognized both of them.

“…could knock out one of the walls and just expand that bedroom.”

“That would make it even bigger than the master, though. Do you think that’s odd, or does it not matter?”

“I suppose it depends on what you want to do with it.”

Draco entered the kitchen and found his partner and his best friend standing around the kitchen island, looking at some papers spread out between them. It was a jarring sight to say the least. Especially when they both turned to look at him as he entered, identical smiles of greeting lighting up their faces.

“Draco, love,” said Pansy. “I didn’t know you would be here today.”

“And I could say the same to you,” he said, unable to fully keep the suspicion out of his voice. “What are you two up to in here?”

“Nothing nefarious, I assure you,” Pansy said with a roll of her eyes. “Honestly. Can’t I visit my new friend Harry here and give him some advice on his next renovation project? That’s hardly offensive is it?”

Draco looked between the two of them. “No, it’s not offensive. Just weird.” Pansy had taken quite a shine to Harry, true. And while Draco was glad of that, he also found it disconcerting, in that “worlds colliding” kind of way.

Harry laughed. “I asked her to come over. We got to talking the other night about the dreaded study, how I had finally finished cleaning it and have no idea what I’m going to do with it. She had some ideas, and I last night I had this thought that it might be nice to actually have a sit-down and discuss it, so I could take notes. Luckily, Pansy was free this morning.”

“You know I live for this sort of thing, Draco,” Pansy said. “I couldn’t resist putting in my two knuts worth.”

Now  _that_ , Draco believed. Pansy happened to be very passionate about interior design, when she wasn’t busy meddling in people’s personal lives or planning lavish dinner parties of course. And there was nothing she loved more than sharing her opinion and having people listen to her.

“Very well, then,” Draco said, deciding to accept it for what it was. If Harry and Pansy were comfortable enough with each other already to meet up without him, that could only be a good thing, right? He sidled up next to Harry at the island, and the brunet put an arm around his waist. “What are your ideas, then?”

“Well, the study’s too small to be a proper guest room,” said Pansy. “Though it is a shame, because Harry lost those extra bedrooms on the third floor when he cleared it out.”

Harry shrugged. “Yes, but I knew that’s what I was doing. I honestly never have anyone here to stay the night. Well, hardly anyone,” he said, his hand squeezing Draco’s hip, almost unconsciously. “Teddy stays a lot, but he’s had a designated room since he was small.”

“The study  _could_ be a kid’s room,” said Pansy. “If Teddy wanted to move rooms. You can fit a smaller bed in there and a small wardrobe. It would be cozy, certainly. But with a fresh coat of paint, something to brighten it up, it could be nice. And it would give you another guest room where Teddy’s room is now, since I assume that one’s larger.”

“Yeah…” Harry said lightly, and Draco could tell by his tone alone that he wasn’t too keen on that idea. “I’m not sure how Teddy would feel about that though. He likes the space he’s made for himself. He feels at home there.”

“Well,” Pansy said nonchalantly, taking a sip of water, “even if you think it’s no good for Teddy there’s always the possibility of it being a bedroom for a  _future_ child. It could start out as a nursery and be converted later.”

Draco’s eyes widened, aghast at Pansy’s boldness. 

“You know, to a proper bedroom, as the child grows up,” she went on, taking another sip of her drink.

Draco gave her the most threatening look he could muster. He couldn’t believe she was bringing this up now, especially after she had chastised him for wanting to rush into a conversation about children so early. He and Harry hadn’t talked about this at all yet, and he hated to think that Pansy’s question would put pressure on Harry in some way.

She was unaffected by his glare, however, ignoring Draco completely as she watched Harry, waiting for a response.

“True,” said Harry. “Though I have to wonder if it’s a bit too far away from the master. I’d want a nursery to be closer than that, within easy reach.” Harry turned his head to look at Draco, and their eyes met. “Don’t you think?”

Draco, momentarily floored, took a few seconds to respond. “Good point,” he managed finally. “That would be a concern, with a baby. But with an older child, less so.”

Harry nodded, then turned back to Pansy, who was hiding a smug smile behind her water glass. “So, it could be a bedroom later,” he said. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of what to do with it now.”

Draco barely heard Pansy’s response, still reeling from the turn the conversation had taken, at least temporarily. And with the way Harry hadn’t even blinked before replying, before  _implying_ , that he was quite open to the possibility to having a child. Of course, Draco had hoped as much, had thought as much, but it made him realize how he was still carrying around some anxiety about this particular topic. He wanted to know if he and Harry wanted the same things, but he had been putting off the conversation, on Pansy’s advice. And also because he was quite enjoying the bubble of newness and happiness that he and Harry had created together. But maybe it was time for some more serious conversations. They were returning to Hogwarts soon, getting ready for another transition, for the next chapter. This might be just the right time.

A light kiss to the side of his head brought Draco back to the present and the conversation at hand.

“And you definitely want to keep it intact, not knock down any walls,” Pansy was saying.

“Yes, I think so,” replied Harry, his hand now running soothingly up and down the small of Draco’s back.

“Then I really think keeping it as a study is the way to go, for now,” the witch said. “But there’s a lot you could do with the space to make it really nice to work in, for one or both of you. If you’ve got some blank parchment I can do a few quick sketches.”

“Great.” Harry looked at Draco, and Draco nodded. “I’ll grab some. And then whip us up some lunch, as promised.”

“That would be lovely.”

The three of them chatted away while Harry cooked and Pansy sketched. They talked a little bit about Harry’s third floor renovation project, but mostly about other things: how Theo and Gideon were getting on, Harry and Draco’s impending return to Hogwarts, and the fact that they finally had a dinner plan scheduled with Harry’s two best friends the following evening.

“I see Hermione all the time when I’m at the Ministry,” Pansy remarked, and Draco was thrown a little by her use of the witch’s first name. “We never chat for long, but she seems quite content to me.”

“She is,” said Harry. “Although it’s been an adjustment recently, being home with Rose. I think she misses working.”

“That’s right,” said Pansy. “I’d forgotten. She gave birth in… June, was it?”

“May.”

“Right. I’d remembered she was pregnant, of course. A bit hard to miss. She was walking around the office practically up to her due date, it seemed.”

“That’s Hermione for you,” said Harry. “She was never one to take it easy.”

“True,” Pansy agreed. “I see Weasley – Ron – much less. He’s out in the field a lot, I suppose.”

“Yeah, they keep him pretty busy,” said Harry. He was whipping up some sort of white sauce quickly with a spoon, then tasting it for seasoning. “The salmon’s almost done,” he said. “Draco, would you set the table for us?”

“Happily,” said Draco.

“Well, do send them my regards when you see them tomorrow,” said Pansy. “And tell Hermione I’d be happy to talk mothering anytime. I have a few tips and tricks learned the hard way that she might find useful.”

“I’m sure she’d really appreciate that,” said Harry, removing the perfectly poached salmon filets from the pan and arranging them on a platter. “All right, I think we’re ready.”

“This looks absolutely divine, Harry,” Pansy said, sitting down at the table and admiring the plate in front of her. “I love a man who can cook.”

“So does Draco,” Harry said, tossing the blond a wink as he poured everyone a little white wine.

Draco rolled his eyes but accepted a kiss when Harry leaned down to give him one. 

“It’s not like I can argue the point,” he said, making Harry’s grin widen.

They ate for a bit, conversation mostly centered around how much they were enjoying it. Then Pansy spread out her drawings for Harry and talked him through her thoughts, and Harry nodded and commented on what he liked most. Draco mostly remained silent, enjoying simply being a witness to this new friendship that was developing between his two favorite people.

Finally, lunch was done and Harry had all of Pansy’s ideas in hand. He told the witch he would think them over and talk to his contractor to see what seemed most feasible. 

“And I’ll cook you and Theo dinner sometime soon. It’s the least I can for your hard work,” he told her as he gave her a hug goodbye. “Three courses, at least.”

“You’re too sweet, Harry,” the woman replied, giving him a kiss. “But given what I just had for lunch today, we will be happy to take you up on that, I’m sure.”

“I’ll walk you out, shall I?” Draco offered when Pansy made her way over to him for a goodbye hug.

“Thank you, Draco. That would be lovely.”

After exchanging brief smiles Harry set to the task of washing up and Draco followed his friend down the hall to the front door. When they arrived, they paused, and Pansy grabbed his arm.

“I love him, Draco,” she said. “And I’m not just saying that. I absolutely love him. He’s perfect for you.”

Draco couldn’t help a grin. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but he was happy all the same.

“It’s just too bad he isn’t bisexual, like you. Then we could share him.”

Draco swatted her arm. “I’m not sharing, no matter what. So don’t even go getting any ideas.”

“Ah, very well,” said Pansy. “I suppose he wouldn’t be nearly so fabulous if he wasn’t so gay.”

That made Draco snort, calling him back to Kyle’s description of Harry that morning.  _Hot and fabulous._ Indeed.

“I’m very happy you two are getting on,” he told her truthfully. “But do leave off all the talk of nurseries and babies, would you? Those are things for Harry and I to decide amongst ourselves.”

Pansy arched a brow. “I was merely testing the waters for myself, wondering Harry’s thoughts. I’d had no clue you two hadn’t discussed it yet.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” said Draco. “And you were the one who said I should wait to have that conversation.”

“I said you should wait until  _after_ you’d gotten back together. I didn’t say you had to wait indefinitely.”

Draco glanced away. “You don’t think it seems early?”

“If you were any other couple, perhaps. But you’re head over heels for him, Draco, and he for you. Honestly, you should have heard the things he said before you arrived. ‘Do you think Draco would like that?’ ‘Maybe Draco will want his own study in the house, or maybe a Potions lab.’ ‘When Draco and I figure out our living situation, that will tell us a lot.’ Word for word, darling, I kid you not. And let’s not forget that when I  _did_ mention the nursery, he already had an opinion and looked at you for confirmation. The man is already considering these things. So why not go ahead and talk about it?”

Draco ducked his head, his cheeks warm. “All right. Fair point. I had a similar thought. Maybe it is time. I just want to bring it up in a way that doesn’t sound pushy or… or desperate.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “And I’m saying you don’t have to worry about those things. Not with him. Didn’t you tell me yourself that one of the best things about being with Harry is that you could be completely honest?”

Draco sighed. “Yes.”

“So… be honest then.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but with what he had no idea. Because of course, Pansy was right, which she knew already. The tilt of her smile told him as much.

“I’m very happy for you, Draco. Truly. So let yourself be happy as well and stop worrying over every little thing.”

He sighed again. “Very well.”

“I must be off. But do get in touch soon. My boys and I want to see you – both of you – before you leave for Hogwarts.”

“I will,” Draco said, bending to give her a kiss. “Harry will be happy to as well. He likes you.”

“He’d better,” said Pansy with a grin. “Because he’s stuck with me.”

Draco laughed. “Indeed.”

She left with a small wave goodbye, and Draco made his way down the hall toward the kitchen. He found Harry at the sink, just finishing up the dishes.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, I’m done,” Harry replied, spelling the last water glass dry and levitating it into an open cabinet. He turned then and approached Draco, wrapping his arms around the blond’s waist. Draco leaned in for a kiss and Harry hummed happily, his hands sneaking down to the curve of Draco’s arse. “How was coffee?” he asked once he’d pulled away.

Draco thought a moment. “Productive,” he said.

Harry laughed, surprised. “I suppose that’s a good thing?”

“It is. Kyle and I aren’t going to be best friends anytime soon. But I think I helped him get closure. About us, but also about his previous relationship as well. At least, I  _hope_ I helped.”

“I’m sure you did,” said Harry, giving him another kiss. “And did you get what you needed out of it?”

“Well, considering that mostly I wanted to apologize… and… I don’t know, feel like I had a positive effect on his life rather than a negative one… yes. I think I got what I needed.”

“Good.”

“Thank you for being so understanding. I know it’s not… pleasant, the idea of your partner having coffee with an ex.”

“It’s not a problem,” said Harry. “I trust you. I figure, if you wanted to be with him, you still would be, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s true,” said Draco smirking. “I  _did_ go to rather a lot of trouble to get you back. I’d hardly want to waste it.”

Harry pulled away, giving him a look that was half amused, half incredulous. “A lot of trouble? I don’t know about that.  _I_ was the one who cornered you in the wine shop even though I saw you happily dating another man and declared my feelings for you once and for all.”

Draco scoffed, grinning. “I wouldn’t say you  _declared_ your feelings, you know. Rather you argued with me about something trivial and talked around your feelings until finally admitting you had them. In the most roundabout way possible.”

Harry pretended to scowl, but his eyes were amused. “It was enough, wasn’t it? You knew what I meant.”

“Yes. I figured out what you meant, enough at least to give us consideration. I’m only pointing out that while you said something convoluted about how you chose not to be with other people because they weren’t me,  _I_ actually came to your house and gave you sweets and told you flat out that I love you. So, comparatively-”

The brunet interrupted him with a growl, gripping him tight around the waist and pulling him flush against Harry’s solid body. A nip to Draco’s earlobe had him gasping, “You need me to be more obvious, do you?” a voice said dangerously in his ear. “You need me to tell you how I longed for you when you were gone? How I lay awake at night wishing you were with me, wondering what I had done to drive you away, what I could do to get you back? How when I saw you with someone else I nearly lost my mind?” Lips descended to Draco’s neck, and he arched automatically, welcoming the touch. “Do you need to hear just how desperately in love with you I am? Is that what you want?”

Instead of answering, Draco found Harry’s mouth and snogged the living daylights out of him, until their lips were raw and their breaths ragged.

“I always want to hear it,” he answered when they finally pulled apart to catch their breath. “Always. But do I  _need_ to? No. Because I know. I know because it’s exactly how I feel.”

Harry cradled his face, eyes soft and warm. “I never want you to doubt again. That’s the most important thing to me. Whatever happens, whatever fights we have or obstacles we face, I need you to always remember that I love you. I always will. If you ever…” He paused, swallowing. “If you ever decide to walk away from me, I never want it to be because you believe I don’t love you. That can never be why.”

“I won’t walk away, Harry,” Draco said emphatically, knowing this wasn’t a game anymore. Harry needed to hear this. “Ever. I’m not going anywhere. I need you to trust me on that.”

“I do,” said Harry. “I trust you.”

Draco kissed an eyelid tenderly, knowing what a big step that was for Harry. Bigger than giving his love, his body, his heart. Draco had fought hard to earn that trust and he wasn’t about to waste it.

“I want everything with you,” he told the brunet. “Absolutely everything.”

“Me too,” whispered Harry. “Me too.”

 _A life. A home. A family_. Draco almost said the words aloud, but something stopped him. He wanted to talk about this, about their vision for a life together, but it didn’t feel like the right time. The details and logistics could and would be hammered out. But it was just as important that Harry know that, no matter what life they created, Draco would be there for it. For all of it.

They stayed pressed together for a little while, Harry resting his forehead on Draco’s shoulder. They didn’t speak, only breathed and sighed, and Draco found himself relishing how such a simple thing could feel so good.

Finally Harry looked up, his smile soft. Draco was about to ask him what he felt like doing next when the brunet said, “Want to help me bake a cake?”

Draco choked on his own words a little, surprised at the question. “A cake?”

“For tomorrow,” said Harry. “It’s tradition. Whoever isn’t hosting brings wine and dessert, while the host makes dinner.”

Draco nodded. He understood the idea. “And you always bake a cake when it’s the Weasley-Grangers’ turn to host?”

Harry laughed. “No. I never bake a cake. Usually I’m lazy and just bring ice cream or treacle fudge or packaged biscuits or something. Ron and Hermione do the same. They’re not exactly skilled bakers, so they don’t mind. But tomorrow night is special, so I thought we’d mark the occasion properly. And I make a pretty good cake, I have to say.”

Draco arched a brow. “So you’re going to bribe them to be nice to me with cake. A sound strategy, to be sure.”

“Oi, I don’t have to  _bribe_ them,” said Harry, swatting him lightly on the arse. “They’re actually quite nice people, you know.”

“I have no doubt that they are,” said Draco. “The problem is that  _I_ wasn’t remotely nice to them for about seven years. Their dislike of me is well-deserved, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they needed some extra buttering up.”

“They know you’re a different person now. They are willing to keep an open mind and give you a chance,” Harry said. They’d had this conversation already, in some form, multiple times, but Draco had yet to feel fully convinced. “Don’t be nervous,” Harry said, kissing him on the cheek.

“I can’t help it,” Draco murmured.

“I know,” Harry said with a chuckle. “It’s how I felt meeting Pansy.”

Draco knew that was true, but he also knew it wasn’t quite the same. While Harry and Pansy had had a few unpleasant run-ins during their school days, it was nothing a little friendly conversation couldn’t repair, now that they were adults. But when it came to the way Draco had harassed Ron Weasley or thrown offensive slurs at Hermione Granger, he hardly thought one dinner together was going to make it right. No matter how good Harry’s cake happened to be.

“One step at a time,” Harry said, and Draco smiled. Harry still had that uncanny ability to guess what he was thinking. “Now come on, let’s bake. You’ll like this even better than cooking, I wager. It requires much more precision, more like potions.”

Draco was still skeptical, but he went along with it. After all, what could it hurt to learn how to bake a cake?

Of course, like with the Bolognese the first time around, Draco was mostly set the simplest of tasks, supervised closely by Harry. It was Draco’s job to sift the dry ingredients and line the cake tins, while Harry took on the much trickier bits, like whipping the eggs and obsessively checking their consistency. As Harry folded the flour mixture in, finally, Draco looked on avidly, the academic part of him interested in the way the whipped eggs naturally leavened the batter.

The not-so-academic part of him was just enjoying the way Harry’s biceps flexed as he carefully stirred and folded.

All the while they chatted, Draco mostly asking questions, some about the chemistry behind the process and some just about how Harry had come to know so much about it. Harry answered them all, including how it was Molly Weasley who’d helped him bake his first cake when Harry decided he wanted to bake his own for Teddy’s birthday one year.

“Molly always baked one as well,” Harry said. “She does it for all the children and grandchildren. But I was having my own celebration with Teddy and Andromeda that year, and I wanted to contribute.”

Apparently the experience had been a positive one, because Harry continued to go back to Molly for lessons every now and then, learning more difficult recipes like the genoise they were making now.

“Cooking and baking are a stress-relieving thing, I realized,” Harry said as he poured the batter into the waiting tins. “Cooking for when I just want to escape and forget things and go with my intuition, and baking for when I when I feel a need for control and want to concentrate on something that will take my full attention. It’s great, because it relieves stress but I also have something delicious to eat at the end of it.”

“As long as everything goes according to plan,” Draco pointed out. “Brewing potions is my stress relief, but when I make a mistake and melt a cauldron, that only adds to my stress.”

“True,” said Harry with a laugh. “I have baked a few disasters in my day. But I guess in the end, so long as I haven’t burned the kitchen down, I figure that at least I tried. And hopefully I learned something. Enough to do better next time, at any rate.”

“Mm,” said Draco, thinking that over. He  _had_ learned just as much, if not more, from his failures than from his successes.

“For frosting I was going to whip up a buttercream. Raspberry, I think. Something light,” Harry said, regaining Draco’s attention.

“Sounds lovely.”

“We’ll have to keep decoration simple, I’m afraid. Unless you have some exceptional piping skills I don’t know about. Molly always makes the most elaborate designs for her cakes: flowers and animals and things. My birthday cake has been a perfectly rendered giant Snitch more than once. But I’ve never got the hang of it. I’m just not very artistic, I suppose,” he finished with a heavy sigh.

Draco gasped in feigned shock. “Something Harry James Potter isn’t good at? What is the world coming to? Is it the first sign of the apocalypse? Is the ground about to drop out from under my feet?”

He received only a darkly amused narrowing of the eyes in response.

“Really,” Draco went on. “It’s a good thing Voldemort never found out about your lack of frosting artistry, or we might have lost the war.”

“You’re hilarious,” Harry said drily. “The wittiest man I’ve ever met. Now hand me the raspberry preserves from the fridge, would you?”

Still chuckling, Draco complied with the request. Then he sat, mostly in silence, as Harry whipped up a quick frosting with practiced competence. The brunet’s hair was a mess, his apron was splattered with small bits of cake batter, and there was a white smudge of flour on his cheek, but Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever found Harry more perfect.

This was it, the thing he had been trying to explain to Kyle earlier that day but couldn’t quite get there. He almost wished the Canadian were here to witness it, the beautiful normalcy of the way Harry lived his life, the way he treated other people, the way he thought of himself. It would never be Harry’s fame or popularity, never his Order of Merlin or his title of Savior, that would keep Draco loving him. It would always be this, the unbearable joy of watching him bake a cake, of listening to him tell stories about the people he loved, of seeing him with his students, of making him smile. 

He knew he was lucky. He knew there were plenty out there who would kill to have the same front row seat to Harry’s life that Draco did. But he also knew that none of them wanted that front row seat for the same reasons as Draco, and that made all the difference.

“What are you grinning about over there?” Harry asked him before tasting the frosting for salt.

Draco watched him as the brunet tilted his head, eyes unfocused and lips smacking as he considered the flavor of his current project. Then he turned to look at Draco, expecting an answer. Draco’s smile widened.

“You’re a mess, Potter,” he said, aware that his voice was rich with affection.

Harry shrugged with his hands. “Well baking, much like life, is a messy business, I suppose.”

Draco laughed. “Indeed.”

A beautiful, messy business.

***

The following evening, Harry Apparated them to the front gate of a little cottage in the country. It was a sweet house with flowers under the windows and vines growing up the side. The brick was aged and worn, but otherwise the place seemed well-kempt.

“How very quaint,” Draco remarked, earning a snort from Harry. He felt his cheeks redden, realizing in that moment he could still sound like a bit of a snob sometimes.

“They wanted something cozy,” Harry explained. “And away from the bustle of London. It’s also not far from where Ron grew up, which suits them as well.”

“It’s quite charming, is what I meant,” said Draco sheepishly, quietly. “That’s all.’

Harry balanced the cake on one hand so he could reach for Draco’s free hand and give it a squeeze. “It’s all right. Deep breaths, yeah? They’re going to love you.”

“So long as I avoid sounding like a condescending prat?” he clarified with a raise of an eyebrow.

“Yes, that,” replied Harry, amused. “In other words, be yourself. Your  _true_ self.”

Draco sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

“Come on then,” said Harry, dropping Draco’s hand so he could carry the cake properly again. They went through the gate and up the rough stone walkway. Draco looked around at the slightly overgrown front garden, taking it all in. Something unexpected caught his eye.

“Are those… dirigible plums?” Draco asked.

Harry followed the direction of his pointed finger and laughed. “Yeah, actually. Well-spotted. It’s uh… sort of a private joke, from the war. A bit hard to explain, really.”

“Hm,” said Draco. He’d always suspected Weasley and Granger were a strange lot. But it wouldn’t do any good to go spouting about it now. “There are going to be a lot of those, aren’t there?” he said. 

“Dirigible plums?”

“Private jokes.”

Harry snorted again. “Right. Obviously. We’ll try to keep them to a minimum, I promise.”

They made it to the door and Harry knocked soundly. Draco got one more good deep breath in before the door was answered by a smiling Hermione Granger-Weasley.

She looked exactly how Draco would have expected her to look, given it had been eight years since he’d last seen her. Her face was the same: clear and youthful, with deeply intelligent brown eyes. But her curls were sleeker and tighter as they fell loose around her shoulders, as though she had finally learned how to properly care for them, and her posture was straight and poised, not the overburdened slouch of yesteryear when she was constantly lugging around heavy books or bending over a cauldron in Potions class.

Adulthood – and motherhood as well, it seemed – suited her nicely.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here. Please, come in.”

They did, and she immediately turned to look at her blond guest. “Hello, Draco. It’s good to see you again.”

“Hello… Hermione,” Draco said, tripping over the name just a little. “You as well. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has.”

“I really appreciate you having me tonight. I – or, I should say, we – brought some wine, as per tradition.” He held the bottle out to her and she took it, noting the label and casting a knowing glance Harry’s way.

“My favorite,” she said. “And cake. My, my. You’re spoiling us tonight.”

“Just a little something Draco and I baked yesterday.”

“By which he means he did all the work and I snuck bits of frosting while he wasn’t looking,” Draco said.

That earned him a laugh from the brunette, much to his relief, and she nodded her head in the direction of the hall. “Come on, then. We can set these down and say hello to Ron. He’s cooking.”

Draco hoped the relieved breath he let out wasn’t too loud.  _So far, so good_. Granger – although really, he probably should be calling her Hermione now, even in his own head – seemed genuinely friendly. Perhaps winning her over wouldn’t be such a task after all.

Of course, there was still her husband to contend with, and he had no idea what to expect from him.

“Harry and Draco are here, love,” Hermione said as the three of them entered the kitchen.

Draco didn’t properly hear the man’s reply; he was too busy trying to figure out exactly  _who_ it was standing at the range. Because whoever the man was, it couldn’t possibly be Ron Weasley. Ron Weasley was noodley and awkward, with bad skin and worse hair. Ron Weasley was wound tight as a drum, ready to snap at the first hint of an insult.

The man at the range, however, was lean but broad-shouldered, with a handsome profile and long red hair that he’d thrown up in a messy bun that suited him. He seemed relaxed, comfortable in his own skin, and when he turned to look in their direction, he was smiling broadly.

The man couldn’t possibly be Ron Weasley. And yet… he  _was_. The lines of his face were familiar, his deep blue eyes knowing. His brow arched in a way Draco recognized as his mouth tilted into a smirk.

“Well, well, well,” he said. “Draco fucking Malfoy. It really is you.”

Draco heard Hermione sigh next to him. “Ronald…” she said, under her breath.

The man glanced at his wife briefly, his smirk never wavering, before he made his way over.

“It’s just that I really thought Harry might be having us on, is all, telling us it was  _you_ he was head over heels in love with. You never know, with this one.” The redhead stuck a thumb in Harry’s direction. “But it really is you.”

“It really is me,” Draco replied. 

Ron stuck his hand out, and Draco shook it. A number of possibilities ran through his head for what to say next, from “It’s good to see you; you’re looking well” to “I’m very glad to be here,” all of which would have been mostly true. But he was worried they would sound disingenuous coming out of his mouth, so he settled on, “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”

“Happy to have you,” replied Ron, and it did sound sincere.

The man’s hand was rough with callouses, not unlike Harry’s, and there was a long scar above his right eyebrow that Draco thought must be from a curse. He was probably scarred all over, come to think of it. If the war and only two years as an Auror had marred Harry’s skin the way it had, then Ron Weasley’s extra six years with the Corps on top of that had probably left him with more marks than skin.

The theory was further confirmed when Ron turned to give Harry a hug in greeting, his shirt riding up enough to reveal a patch of mottled flesh just above his hip.

Draco shook himself, accepting Hermione’s offer of a drink and deciding that while he could recognize objectively that Weasley had grown up to be a rather attractive bloke, in the end, it didn’t mean he was interested in dwelling on what he looked like naked. That was just too strange to contemplate.

Luckily Hermione had engaged him in conversation as she took to opening the bottle of wine they had brought, while Weasley – or rather…  _Ron_ , he supposed – had returned to the stove to finish the meal. Draco told her about his summer and a research project he was thinking of starting back up, happily accepting a glass when the brunette handed it to him.

“That sounds fascinating,” Hermione said, now pouring a glass for Harry. “Transfiguration by potion is a very limited field right now, as I understand it. Other than polyjuice, I can’t think of a single other potion that actually accomplishes it.”

“There are some that allow very superficial physical changes, but nothing as complex as polyjuice. I was looking into developing potions to assist with Animagus transfiguration, back when I was studying for my mastery. But I only got so far with it. I thought I’d pick it up again, now that I’m back in academics full time.”

“Well, I’d love to read your research,” said Hermione. “I’ve dabbled a little in potions since I graduated, but my legal work has kept me well busy for the most part.” She summoned another wine glass. “Some wine for you, love?” she called to her husband.

“I’ll probably wait until dinner, but go on and pour me a glass.”

“And for yourself, of course,” said Draco, noticing that she was currently only sipping on water. “It is your favorite, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Hermione. “I love a good malbec. Harry found this one for me last year. But I’ll be feeding Rose in another hour or so, so I’ve got to hold off.”

 _Right_ , Draco realized.  _Breastfeeding._

“But I’ll have a glass after dinner, if there’s any left.”

“We’ll be sure to save you some,” said Harry.

Hermione grinned. “Honestly, I’m most looking forward to the cake.”

Ron’s ears perked up at that. “Cake? You brought cake?”

“Harry  _baked_ a cake,” Hermione clarified pointedly.

“Draco and I baked it,” Harry said, throwing an arm around Draco’s waist.

Draco shook his head and mouthed “No” at Ron, to indicate that this was patently false, and Ron snorted.

“So, you baked us a cake, Harry?” Ron said teasingly. “Just on a whim, I suppose. Has nothing to do with your guest tonight or trying to get on our good side, I’m sure.”

“That’s essentially what I said,” added Draco, and Harry threw him a look of mock betrayal. Draco shrugged in response. “It’s true.”

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” said Hermione, that knowing smile back again.

“Yes, it’s absolutely adorable.” Ron tossed his friend a wink.

“Sweet Merlin,” Harry said with a sigh, his cheeks pink. “If I’d known you were going to be this way about it, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Oh, don’t be that way, Harry. We’re only teasing. We know tonight is… different. Special.” Hermione cast a fleeting glance at Draco.

Draco was torn, emotionally, between enjoyment at seeing Harry get a ribbing from his friends and mortification that they were talking about this so openly.  _Bloody Gryffindors. Of course they have to address the Erumpent in the room._ He was glad when Harry changed the subject, asking after his goddaughter.

“I was hoping to get some quality time with my  _favorite_ Weasley,” he said pointedly.

“She’s sleeping,” said Hermione. “I thought we’d try to get as much of dinner in as we could before she wakes. But you’ll get lots of time with her after, I’m sure. She only sleeps about three hours at a time, Merlin help us.”

“Oi, don’t encourage him,” Ron said, waving a set of tongs in his wife’s direction from the range. “I’m not so keen on this ‘favorite Weasley’ business he’s started up.”

“Oh, but it doesn’t bother me in the slightest,” said Hermione airily. “I’m a  _Granger-Weasley_ , after all.”

“What does that have to do with it?” the redhead asked.

“It’s entirely different. I’m in a category all my own, so I’ll always be one of Harry’s favorites.” She smirked in a self-satisfied way at her husband, who scowled, though there was some amusement dancing in his blue eyes. Harry chuckled.

“Thrown over for a three-month-old,” Ron grumbled, returning his attention to the food. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Well, she  _is_ about a hundred times cuter than you,” said Harry. “So I’m not sure why you’re surprised.”

Ron leveled a stare at his friend, then shrugged, as if conceding the point. And he sort of had to, after all. It was his very own daughter they were discussing.

“Well, that may be true,” he said. “But  _she_ didn’t help you win a war.”

“No, that was Hermione,” said Harry, clearly enjoying his friend’s indignation.

Ron glared.

“And you too,” Harry said, with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t pout.”

“And at least I’m potty trained,” Ron went on, making Hermione giggle. “And can feed and clothe myself.”

“Yes, you have a lot going for you, darling,” said the brunette affectionately. 

“ _And_ I don’t cry at an excruciating volume every time I need something,” he added.

“No, only when the Cannons lose a match,” said Harry, grinning.

“Which is every time they play,” Hermione chimed in.

“Dinner is ready,” Ron declared. “You probably ought to go ahead and get your share Draco, before I add a healthy dose of U-No-Poo to each of theirs.” He indicated his fellow Golden trio members with his tongs.

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Harry. “Not to your very best mate in the whole world.”

“Nor to the mother of your child,” said Hermione.

“Oh, I would,” said Ron darkly, looking between them. Their grins hadn’t faltered at the threat. Ron smiled, suddenly, as though this was amusing.

“Sweet Circe,” Draco found himself saying aloud. “Are you three like this all the time?”

There was a loud round of laughter at that, though Hermione did give Draco a look of apology afterwards.

“Forgive us, Draco,” she said. “It’s the result of knowing each other for far too long.”

“It’s just how we show our love,” said Harry, giving Draco a kiss on the temple. “You’ll get used to it.”

The strange thing was, he could actually see how that was possible. There was something very natural and unguarded about the three of them together that Draco found to be a rare experience in his own life. But he quite liked it. It was the same thing he had managed to achieve with Pansy, at least during the times in their friendship when they were closest and at their most honest. And it was what he had with Harry now.

As they sat down to dinner and platters of food were passed around, Draco was remembering a conversation with Harry many months ago, the night they had left David’s party. 

 _How many people do you think really know you?_ Harry had asked him then.

 _Not many_ , had been Draco’s reply. And it was true.

It was a gift, the freedom to be yourself. A person didn’t find it with just anyone. Draco had it with Harry, Pansy, and perhaps still with Greg, to some extent. Harry had it with Ron and Hermione, and now he was letting Draco into it too.

Draco had always wanted to be on this side of things, back in school. He remembered the way he used to glance over at the Gryffindor table at meals, watching the Golden Trio talk and laugh, or huddle closely with their heads together, making whispered conversation. He remembered the way he would catch one of them looking at the other two, silent communication happening between them, as if they didn’t need words.

His longing for  _that_ , that intimacy, had made him angry in his youth, resentful. Harry’s initial rejection had been a blow, back when they were eleven, but it was the boy hero’s continuous embracing of Ron and Hermione that had made the rejection stick, like it was happening over and over again. Draco hadn’t even realized until now how painful that had been, how he’d carried it with him for such a long time.

And now he was here, and it was surreal. Mostly because he realized he actually didn’t know Hermione or Ron really at all. Essentially all of his assumptions about them appeared to be false. Hermione was warm and inclusive, intellectual but not overbearingly so; Ron was sharp and sure of himself, with a dry wit that helped Draco understand why he appealed to both Harry and Hermione.

Had he missed this all along, he wondered. Had he just been unwilling to see it before, or was it because they’d grown up, and grown into themselves?

After a couple of glasses of wine, he decided it didn’t matter. Conversation flowed easily, and it was the lighthearted kind. In such circumstances, it was not a trial to participate, and the three others were always happy to provide Draco with ample context when it delved into something related to the Golden Trio’s history. Hermione especially was good with keeping them on topic, making sure Draco was never left out for long. They deftly skirted anything that would bring up painful memories, which Draco was grateful for.

It was tentative, this peace. But it  _was_ peace, and that was something.

There was a lull in conversation when Ron got up to open another bottle of wine, and Draco took the opportunity to relay to Hermione Pansy’s message from the day before.

“She told me she’d be happy to talk mothering with you anytime, if you were so inclined.”

“Oh, how sweet,” said Hermione, looking genuinely pleased. “I always enjoyed running into her at the Ministry. She’s been quite friendly since school.”

“She has a way with people,” said Draco. “She won Harry over quickly.”

“She’s hard not to like,” Harry agreed, a hand coming to rest on the back of Draco’s neck and kneading gently. “Of course, I was more worried that she wasn’t going to like me.”

“Which is ridiculous,” said Draco, looking at him. “As if there was any doubt.” He turned back to Hermione to say something else, only to find her looking between the two of them with an unmistakable smirk on her lips.

“Stop smiling at us like that,” Harry murmured, turning pink again. “It’s annoying.”

Hermione’s expression only grew more smug. Luckily Ron returned with a fresh bottle and started refilling wine glasses, turning conversation back to the latest Quidditch league standings.

More wine was consumed, the table was cleared, and eventually it was decided that it was time for cake. Hermione sprang from her chair immediately, practically bouncing her way over to the counter.

“Hermione has developed a real sweet tooth since the pregnancy,” Ron informed them as he stood to get some plates for them.

“Well, I  _am_ eating for two,” she said. “Even now. No harm in a few extra calories every now and then.”

“Hey, I’ve got no complaints, love,” said Ron, giving her arse a pinch as he passed her by on the way to the cabinet.

Looking half scandalized, half amused, Hermione turned and gave his arse a resounding smack in return, which he tried unsuccessfully to dodge. Wincing and laughing simultaneously, he opened the cabinet to retrieve the dishes.

A baby’s cry filled the room, startling Draco before he realized it was just a baby monitoring charm from one of their wands.

“I’ll get her,” said Ron, seeing that Hermione was in the middle of cutting the cake. “Just in time for dessert. She already has excellent timing, doesn’t she?”

He vanished for a few minutes while Hermione cut everyone ample slices of the vanilla genoise, remarking on how delicious it looked.

“When are you going bake  _me_ a birthday cake, Harry?” she asked.

“And dethrone Molly Weasley? I don’t think that would go over well.”

Hermione took a big bite, licking her lips of the raspberry buttercream and humming happily. “Two different birthday cakes wouldn’t be the end of the world,” she said casually, making both men laugh.

They were halfway through their slices when Ron reemerged, a sleepy baby wrapped around his hip.

“Here she is,” he said softly to the room, looking down at his daughter, whose little head was resting in the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes were half-lidded and looking around with only a mild interest. “Still a tired girl, huh?” he remarked. “Always takes a little while to perk up.”

“But it’s only a matter of time,” said Hermione. “Especially once she realizes how hungry she is.”

Ron remained standing for a bit, encouraging the others to keep eating while he bounced and rocked her. Draco had to admit the man looked like a natural with a baby in his arms. It helped that Rose sported a little tuft of hair almost the exact shade of red as his, making it look like they belonged together.

 _Definitely a Weasley_ , he thought with a smirk.

Eventually she started lifting her head and having a proper look at their guests, including Harry, who she seemed to recognize. She smiled at him when Harry gave her a wave.

“There’s my girl,” he said, face lighting up in a way Draco had to look away from, lest he start to feel all gooey inside. Harry reached his arms up. “Let me take her for a bit, so you can eat.”

“Thanks, mate,” said Ron, passing her over.

Harry took her easily and rested her on his lap, and dessert was resumed. Conversation didn’t stray far from Rose, though, as Draco asked the new parents about how the transition had been.

“Harry’s told me a little about it,” he said. “But I was curious what you thought had changed the most since she was born, besides the obvious.”

“Sleep,” Hermione said immediately. “Although that one  _is_ obvious, I suppose. But it’s the biggest one.”

“You sleep when she does,” Draco said. He remembered Pansy saying the same.

“Pretty much. Which means, not a lot. Though she’s better than she was that first month.”

“Sex,” said Ron, adding his thoughts to the conversation. “That’s the other big one. Not a lot of time or energy to have any, you know, due to the lack of sleep.”

“Ron…” Hermione said, blushing, though the redhead merely shrugged.

“It’s true. How some people conceive another child right after the first is born is beyond me.”

“Your mum had you and Ginny just about back to back, you know,” Harry remarked as he bounced Rose on his knee. “Don’t forget that.”

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out,” Ron said drily. “Because my parents’ sex life is something I want to spend a lot of time thinking about, obviously.”

“You’re very welcome,” Harry replied with a grin.

“As far as what  _surprised_ me…” Hermione said, steering the topic away from sex altogether. “I would say I never realized just how well I would know her, and so quickly too. I mean, obviously I’m her mum, and I pay attention to her unlike I have any other child. But I feel like I know every little thing about her. And I notice new things every day that weren’t there the day before. She’s always surprising me. Part of it is that she’s growing and changing so fast.”

Draco nodded. “This first year especially, I imagine.”

“I’m amazed at how distracted at work I am,” said Ron. “I have a hard time focusing and thinking about things other than her when I’m there. I used to be able to compartmentalize, you know? Work was work, and while I was there it had all my focus. And then when I was at home I was just focused on Hermione and the house. But when Rose was born it was like… my entire frame of reference shifted or something. Every case that has come across my desk in the past three months has made me think of her in one way or another. My priorities feel different.”

“How’s the job hunt going?” Harry asked. “Are they going to be able to find you a position out of the field?”

“We’ll see,” Ron said with a sigh, watching his daughter in Harry’s lap. “Promotions season is nearly upon us. We’ve got the newest batch of recruits coming in, and once they make the transition into our work force, that’s when everything shifts and administrators get promoted and retirements go into effect, for the most part. That’s when they’ll know if they have a post for me.”

“So, a few more months?”

Ron nodded. “If I can wait that long. I don’t know. There’s been talk…” He glanced at his wife, who tilted her head at him and indicated he should keep going with a small wave of her hand. “We’re talking about Hermione going back to work earlier than she had planned and me leaving the Corps to stay home with Rose.”

“Really,” said Harry, and he did sound genuinely surprised. “That’s new.”

Ron shrugged. “Honestly, I think it’s a solution that would suit us. I’m burnt out on Auror work completely at this point, and Hermione’s department is really hurting without her.”

“It would be hard to leave Rose,” Hermione chimed in. “And I don’t think I’ll be able to work the long hours I used to. I just wouldn’t want to. But I’d like to get back to work. And Ron likes the idea of being home.”

“We’ll just have to see,” Ron went on calmly. “It means we’d be down to one income for a while, which is something we’ll have to talk about. We have some savings and the house is paid off, so it’s doable.” He looked at his wife again, who nodded.

Draco listened in silence, feeling strangely… humbled. Having never had to worry about money, even after the war and losing a large portion of the Malfoy fortune to make reparations, Draco had always had the freedom to do what he wanted, whether it was work or leisure. It gave him a sense of security that he knew now he was lucky to have.

He hadn’t always been so aware of it. In his youth he had believed, thanks to his parents’ influence, that his wealth made him better than other people. “Better” in what way was never really explained to him, it was just… the way it was. He cringed internally, remembering the way he used to taunt Ron Weasley for his poverty, and wondered if the same memories had crossed the redhead’s mind, even for a moment. If they did, he didn’t show it.

He shifted in his chair. It was uncomfortable, recalling all those cruel words he had said. He even remembered trying to think them up, trying to formulate the most cutting insult, whatever would hurt the most. It was made all the more shameful by the way Ron and Hermione were talking now, the way they were practical, responsible with their money, the money they had earned themselves. The way they still had to worry, make sure they had enough to give their daughter the best life they could. Even with both of them working as hard as they did, contributing to the world in the way that they did, they still had to worry. It wasn’t right.

“The Ministry doesn’t pay its employees nearly enough,” Draco said, after Ron mentioned the cutbacks in Auror benefits that had happened in the last few years. “Something needs to be done.”

“No argument there,” said Ron. “But, sadly, it’s been a problem for decades now. It was an issue for our parents’ generation, and it hasn’t gotten any better. I’m not even sure  _how_ we would make it better.”

“The Wizengamot would have to raise salary standards across all departments, to affect real change,” said Hermione. “But that’s not going to happen anytime soon. If anything, they’re making cuts, to accommodate the development of new departments.”

“And our beloved Minister isn’t doing anything about it,” said Draco.

This led to the inevitable round of complaints about the current leadership, in which the four found themselves politically aligned. By that point the little one in Harry’s lap was starting to fuss, however, and Hermione declared it was time to feed her.

“Can we get you all anything else?” she asked as she took the baby from her friend and gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. “More wine, coffee?”

Both assured her they were fine, and Harry offered to help Ron with cleaning the kitchen. Draco offered to help as well, but Harry suggested he keep Hermione company in the sitting room instead while she fed Rose.

“So long as you don’t mind being in the company of a nursing mum,” Hermione said. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh no, that’s fine,” Draco said, though on the inside he was panicking a little. He was just getting reacquainted with the woman. The last thing he wanted was to make things awkward by accidentally staring at her chest too much.

 _Just keep your eyes on her face_ , he told himself resolutely.  _You’ll be fine_.

Fortunately, she was wearing a special shirt that made nursing both easy and discreet, and he rather forgot about what she was doing after a few minutes, getting lost in the conversation when she asked him more about his research. This led, as it always inevitably did, to Draco talking about his students and their research as well.

“I have a rising 5th year who reminds me a lot of you,” he told her. 

“Really,” she replied. “In what way?”

“Gryffindor, Muggleborn, brilliant, lives to study and research…” Draco started ticking off with his fingers, making Hermione laugh. “Strong moral compass, strong sense of purpose… she’s even dating a Quidditch star, come to think of it. You did that too, didn’t you?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Only for a few months. But Victor and I didn’t end up having that much in common, so it didn’t last.”

“Yeah, I worry about that with Raisie. She seems to really like this boyfriend of hers, but I can’t see why. He only distracts her, really.”

“Ah well, girls and boys both need some distraction at that age. So long as her work isn’t falling off, there probably isn’t much harm.”

“True,” said Draco. “She still seems quite committed to her work, if the owls she’s sent me this summer are any indication.”

Hermione stared at him a moment, and – if he didn’t know any better – Draco would have thought her expression seemed almost… fond. “Harry said you were different,” she said softly. “I just hadn’t realized how much that was true.”

Draco looked down at his hands, somewhere between pleased and embarrassed. “I’d certainly like to think I’ve come a long way since we were in school,” he said finally. “I’m not perfect by any stretch, but I have grown up, as have we all.”

“The mere fact that you  _can_ admit you’re not perfect shows how much you’ve changed,” she said.

Draco laughed sardonically. “I suppose I was just that much of a prat back then, wasn’t I?” When she didn’t argue, he chuckled some more. “Yes,” he said. “It’s actually… rather horrifying to think about, sometimes.”

“I wouldn’t dwell on it, Draco. It’s no use giving yourself pain over it.”

“Except when the pain reminds you to be better,” he answered. She furrowed her brow. “Like how I treated you, for example, when we were younger. How can I not feel pain, guilt, shame, over that? I hope to never treat someone that way ever again, even accidentally. And I hope you know…” He swallowed, realizing, suddenly, what an important moment this was. He wasn’t sure if he would get the chance this night, to say these things. But it seemed like the right time, with it being just the two of them. So he took a deep breath and continued on. “I hope you know how sorry I am, for all that I said and did. I’m afraid it’s too much to be able to name it all, but especially for the name-calling, the bullying, anything I did that made you feel like you didn’t belong at Hogwarts or in our world. Thankfully you proved me wrong at every turn. You proved a hundred times over what a brilliant witch you are, and I’m glad for that, that my stupid actions and words didn’t hold you back. You were always much stronger than I, in that way.”

Hermione took that in, her expression soft. “They did affect me, you know,” she said, and Draco closed his eyes, nodding. “How could they not? You hear something enough… Not that it was just you. It was a whole culture, which you were a product of.”

“It’s no excuse, though,” he replied. “Yes, my father raised me to be a blood purist, and that influenced me as a child, but I didn’t aim my attentions on just any Muggleborn. I aimed them on you, because I was jealous of you, threatened by you, your talent… And that’s on me. I can’t blame my father for that. Same with – with Ron. I was jealous of him.”

“For his friendship with Harry?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. Essentially. I think it was… complicated, the way I felt. There was a lot that he had that I didn’t. He had a richness in his life that was lacking in mine, in terms of a supportive family, loyal friends… I wasn’t totally deprived of them. I did have Pansy. But I felt very alone a lot of the time, if you can believe that. And it seemed like Ron was never alone. He always had people who loved him. And yes, one of those people was Harry, and I was jealous of that. So I…” He shook his head. “I made a point of constantly bringing up the one thing I could lord over him, the one thing I had that he didn’t: wealth. Which is… awful, and cruel. I hate that I did that. I really do.” He stared at the floor, his hands clasped together. There was a thoughtful silence.

“I think Ron would be very interested to hear you say it that way,” Hermione said finally. Draco looked up to see that she had finished feeding Rose and was now burping her with soft pats to her small back. “Mostly for the apology, but also because… he’s just never seen his own adolescence that way. He’s always had a lot of family and friends in his life, true, but he struggled for a long time with feeling inferior to them, Harry included. He’s come to terms with that now, of course. But it can be very lonely, to have all these people who say they love you and yet you don’t believe you live up to their expectations.”

“Hm,” said Draco, thinking that over. “I suppose it only further proves that you can’t fully know or understand a situation unless you’re inside of it.”

“True,” she replied. “Which goes for you as well, and your pureblood upbringing. I didn’t think about it much at the time, of course, but now it’s not hard to imagine how  _that_ would have been a lonely life as well.”

“In some ways, yes,” Draco agreed. “Especially later on, when – when Voldemort returned. Lonely… and frightening.”

She looked at him like she knew exactly what he was talking about, and he supposed she must. “You and Harry have that in common.”

“Harry and I have a lot in common, it turns out,” Draco said, giving her a small smile.

She returned it. “Yes, I can see that now. I must say that I was… shocked, when he told us it was you. We knew there was  _someone,_ of course. He started showing up at our house a couple of times a week, before the school year had even ended, looking mopey and downtrodden. We finally got it out of him, that he had been seeing a wizard for months, exclusively, but that it hadn’t worked out. We knew this one was different immediately. He’d never acted like that before. Heartbroken, confused, lost. He didn’t use the word ‘love,’ but he didn’t have to. We knew whoever it was, Harry had fallen in love with him.”

Draco closed his eyes as she spoke, feeling the pain of having hurt Harry all over again. “Yet another strike against me,” he said. “I never wanted him to feel like that. It wasn’t my intention-“

“No, you misunderstand me,” Hermione interrupted him. “It wasn’t… I’m not saying it to… It was actually rather… refreshing, believe it or not. I was sort of relieved, actually. I was sad that he was sad, of course, don’t get me wrong. I would have rather that he had fallen in love and  _not_ gotten hurt in the process. But the mere fact that he had… that he had allowed himself to feel something so strongly…” She sighed. “For a long time I worried that he would never fall in love, because he wouldn’t let himself. I knew he wanted a partner, something substantial, eventually. He talked about it. But it was always ‘someday.’ Never ‘soon.’ Never ‘now.’ I’ll admit I nagged him a bit – a bad habit of mine – and he always told me very good-naturedly to leave him alone about it, that he would find someone when he was ready. I just didn’t understand what was holding him back. I thought he was stopping himself from feeling real feelings, keeping the men he dated at arm’s length to avoid getting hurt, after everything he’s been through. He told me time and again it wasn’t the case, but I didn’t listen. So when he started showing up, heartbroken, realizing there was a man out there that he wanted for more than just a few months, someone he wanted a future with… Well, what can I say? I was thrilled. Ron and I both were, though for him it was mixed with concern about how sad Harry was. I wasn’t concerned, though, because I knew that Harry wouldn’t lounge around moping forever. He would go out and get what he wanted, now that he knew what that was. He would find a way to have it, whether with you or with someone else in the future. But he’d  _let_ himself have feelings and he’d seen for himself that a person can survive real heartbreak, and for that I was immensely glad. That it turned out you loved him in return and wanted to get back together with him was another level of delightful of course. To see him so happy, so vibrant, so…  _sure_ , when he spoke about you, about your relationship. It was such a gift, I couldn’t very well resent that it was someone we’d happened to have a difficult history with. It was a long time ago, Ron and I both decided, and if you were willing to move forward, and if you could make Harry happy, then, well… we would embrace it.”

Draco found himself smiling shyly by the end of her speech, a torrent of emotions running through him, most of them good. “It means a lot that you were willing to give me a chance and put Harry first. That’s what I want to do too. It was my main intention when I came here tonight, which is why I’m glad I got the chance to apologize. And I’ll apologize to Ron as well, of course. And I will continue to do everything I can to make Harry happy. But now, I’ll admit that it’s more than that for me. I’d be very glad to know you properly, to call you my friends. I hope I can earn the same feelings from you someday.”

“You already have, Draco, of course. This evening has been truly lovely, much better than I ever could have expected. I can only speak for me, of course, and I do think it would be good for you to have a proper talk with Ron at some point. Probably not tonight, but in the future. In a way, he has more baggage from your… past antagonism than I do. But he’s willing to look past it, especially if you apologize from your heart as you did with me. And if you continue to show your devotion to Harry, that will help a lot as well. That’s the most important thing to him.”

Draco nodded. “Thank you for the advice.”

“We are genuinely happy that you’re here, and that Harry has found someone who obviously loves him as well. We’re very excited about that.”

Draco laughed. “I could tell that much at least. I assume that was what all the teasing was about regarding the cake? That seemed of particular interest to you.”

Hermione laughed freely. “Yes,” she said. “It’s just too adorable, how smitten he is. The fact that he went to the trouble to bake a cake for what is usually a fairly mundane and casual dinner is only one of many symptoms of just how happy he is with you. It’s simply impossible not to tease him about it.”

“Well, by all means, continue to tease. I’ve always found Harry exceptionally cute when he’s embarrassed.”

Hermione’s grin turned sly. “ _Always_?” she asked. “Even when we were in school? Perhaps  _that’s_ why you taunted him so much, hm?”

He felt his cheeks go red, and he looked away a moment. “I see,” he said, unable to help a smile. “The tables have turned now, haven’t they?”

“You must have seen it coming,” Hermione replied, sounding amusingly reasonable. “After all, if you are going to be one of us, then you are going to have to tolerate a really rather excessive amount of teasing yourself.”

“It’s how you show your love, after all,” Draco said, echoing Harry from earlier in the evening.

She tilted her head, looking at him warmly. “Precisely.”

Draco could still feel some heat in his cheeks at her words, but he knew it was more because he was pleased than embarrassed. His eyes drifted to the little redhead in Hermione’s lap, who had been rather quiet for their conversation, only inserting the occasional coo of delight at being well-fed and in her mother’s arms. Now, though, she was looking at Draco and smiling, her blue eyes wide and curious, and Draco smiled right back.

“Would you like to hold her?” Hermione asked him.

“I…” Perhaps it was silly, after the conversation they’d just had, but Draco couldn’t help a small frisson of surprise that Hermione would trust him with something so precious. But he was also very happy to have earned that trust. “I would like that very much.”

Hermione handed her over, and then sat down next to Draco on the sofa, so they could both look at Rose’s face as she bounced on Draco’s knee.

“You really are a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” he said to the girl, who only smiled some more. “Your godfather insisted that you were, you know. And he was right.”

“Harry and Rose already adore each other,” said Hermione, her eyes never leaving her daughter. “We couldn’t imagine a better godfather for her, of course. It was really nice to have him around more right when she was born, actually. It was more than we expected.”

“I think Harry wishes he could be around more in general,” said Draco. “For Teddy and for Rose. Being at Hogwarts most of the year makes it hard.”

“Yes,” said Hermione calmly, holding out a finger for Rose to grab in her little fist. “But teaching is what he loves to do, and I think it’s made him into the person he is now, in a lot of ways. So we work with it. I’m glad he has you there with him, at least.”

“Me too,” Draco said softly.

They continued to fawn over the baby, chatting about parenting, about how fast she was growing, about how much she looked like Ron, until the men arrived from the kitchen. Ron had brought a small glass of wine for his wife, who grinned and thanked him when she saw it. She got up from the sofa and insisted Harry take her place next to Draco, while she curled up on the loveseat with her husband.

“She’s got you enchanted already, I see,” said Harry as he sat down. “She has that way about her, doesn’t she?”

“A very nice disposition,” Draco agreed. “Alert, but not too fussy.”

“Teddy was like that,” said Harry. “Then he started to crawl, and once he was mobile he got into  _everything_. A real troublemaker. Remember that?” he asked his friends.

“Oh yes. Andromeda’s carpet still has stains from when he got into her set of paints,” said Hermione. “Which she kept under lock and key on a high cabinet shelf. I’m convinced he must have done some accidental magic to get to them.”

“Toddlers have been known to do that,” Draco said. “Parents learn quickly that a simple lock is never enough.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Ron said drily. “I’m not particularly looking forward to the ‘terrible twos.’”

“Well, she’s perfectly lovely now, at least,” said Draco. “So you can enjoy it while it lasts.”

As if she knew they were talking about her, Rose let out a little giggle, which made all the adults smile in delight.

“She’s just so  _cute_ ,” Harry said. “I want to eat her up.” He grabbed one of her tiny bare feet and pretended to munch on it, making the baby giggle some more.

“Oi,” said Ron, “Save some for the rest of us. Or get your own.”

“Not a bad idea,” quipped Harry. “I wouldn't mind having myself one of these.”

Draco felt himself go still, briefly, managing his reaction. It was the second time in as many days that Harry had talked about the possibility of children, and it made Draco’s heart stutter. Had they been alone, he might have turned to Harry and asked him exactly how serious he was, exactly how sure. But it was not a conversation to have in a social setting. And he was also afraid to latch onto something said so casually, and always in response to someone else’s prompting. He was still afraid to read too much into it, even now.

Conversation shifted away from the baby and toward the next few months and what it was going to bring for all of them. Harry made his friends promise to keep him apprised of what they decided to do about Ron’s work situation, and the two other Gryffindors made both Harry and Draco promise to come for a visit in the fall.

“The winter hols is far too long to go without seeing you,” said Hermione. “We need to be better about staying in touch during the year.”

“I agree,” said Harry. “We’ll schedule a weekend when we’re all free, yeah?” He looked at Draco, who nodded his consent.

The evening wound to a close, and hugs and kisses were exchanged all around. Draco was glad he could thank Harry’s friends for their hospitality with complete sincerity, and he was even happier to hear the genuine warmth in the farewells from both of them.

“That went well, I thought,” said Harry as they made their way down the stone path toward the gate.

“Very well,” said Draco. “Couldn’t have been better, honestly.”

“You and Hermione seemed to get on.”

“She’s incredibly kind,” said Draco. “I like her quite a bit.”

Harry smiled. “She likes you too. I could tell.”

“It helped that I got a chance to apologize, I think. We were able to have a very genuine and candid conversation while you and Ron were in the kitchen.”

“That’s great, Draco,” Harry said, opening the gate and gesturing him through. “I hope you know I wasn’t… you know, expecting you to do that. It could have been something that happened later on, when you know them a little better.”

“I think it was better I did it now. Started the process at least,” said Draco. “I have some things to say to Ron, too. But at least Hermione knows where I stand, what I regret from that time in our lives, and they can be sure I’m a different person now. I think that  _will_ make a difference, in the end.”

Harry took his hand. “I love you.”

Draco laughed. “I love you too. That’s mostly why I did it. Although I do genuinely like your friends, even Ron. I’m looking forward to getting to know them better.”

He felt Harry squeeze his hand, pulling him closer. “This is such a good beginning. It makes me so… I’m just so happy.”

“Me too,” Draco said, meeting his eyes. “I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

Harry laughed. “Speaking of which, I hope… well… I’d like to spend more time with you tonight, if that’s possible. Would you be willing to come back to mine for a bit?”

“More than willing,” said Draco. “Of course.”

Harry Apparated them directly back to Grimmauld, right into the foyer. They got their bearings a moment, then Harry bent down to give Draco a heartfelt kiss. It was chaste, though, and over a bit too soon for Draco’s liking. But before he knew it, Harry was taking his hand and leading him down the hall.

“How about a drink?”

“Great.”

“What would you like?” Harry asked him as they entered the kitchen. “Tea, or something stronger?”

“Whatever you’re having,” said Draco.

“I was thinking about another glass of wine.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Red?”

“Perfect.”

He watched as Harry moved about the kitchen, his lithe body stretching upwards to reach two glasses for them, his jean-clad arse very nicely on display as he bent to pull a bottle out of his wine cabinet. Draco realized how much he enjoyed watching Harry do the most mundane things. He had an easy grace about him that had been present in their school days (especially on a broom) but was even more pronounced now in manhood, now that he had grown into himself. 

It was impossible not to admire him, and Draco knew he would probably be drooling and thinking of ways to maneuver Harry into bed that night if… well, if they had decided to take that next step. He wasn’t sure if they were there yet or not, though they were getting closer and closer. 

There was also the fact that he was a bit distracted by the brunet’s offhand comment earlier in the evening.

_I wouldn’t mind having myself one of these._

He didn’t know if Harry was dropping him little hints or if he really was just being nonchalant about having children, but Draco decided it didn’t matter. He needed to know. And now he had Harry alone, and could ask, if he was brave enough.

“Did you mean what you said, before?” he blurted, before he could overthink it.

Harry paused only briefly in his uncorking of the wine, looking at Draco before resuming his task. “About what?” he asked.

“About…” Draco hesitated. Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Harry pulled the cork out of the bottle with a pop and the blond decided he didn’t care. He could say anything to Harry, ask him anything. He knew that. “About how you wouldn’t mind having a child.”

Harry placed the bottle on the counter, his eyes never leaving Draco as he tilted his head. A soft smile played on his lips. “Yes,” he said simply, after a moment. “I meant it.”

“Oh. Um… good.” Draco wasn’t really sure where to go from there, but Harry saved him from having to try.

“What would make you…? Did you think that I…?” Harry seemed to be having a hard time deciding on a question.  “Why did you feel you needed to ask me that?”

Draco shrugged, feeling strange and awkward, like he was suddenly on display. “I don’t know. I guess because I’ve been wondering how you felt about it. About children, I mean. And we hadn’t talked…”

Harry started pouring wine into each of their glasses, nodding. “No, that’s true.”

“But it’s come up a couple of times. When Pansy so  _casually_ mentioned it yesterday.” That made Harry laugh, and Draco smiled, feeling slightly more relaxed. “And you brought it up again tonight, sort of, and I…”

Harry handed him a glass, and Draco murmured a “thank you.”

“We can talk about it, if you want to,” the brunet said.

Draco took a sip of wine to fortify himself. “I’m not trying to make a big deal out of the whole thing,” he said. “But maybe…” Pansy’s advice to  _be honest_ was ringing in his head, and so he pressed on. “Maybe it is a big deal, in a sense, for me. I want to be a father someday. It’s… um… it’s really important to me, actually.”

Harry smiled at Draco, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I know.”

Draco stared at him.

“I listen to you as much as you listen to me,” Harry replied, seeming almost amused. “I’ve picked up on a few things, one of which is that you want a family. You talked about it every now and then when we were together the first time. And the loss you felt when Astoria’s son was born… I could tell how hard that was for you, just from the way you talked about it. I know you really wanted to be a dad. I know you still want that. It’s all right. I knew it already, when we restarted this.”

Draco let out a sigh. He knew Harry was watching him, but he kept staring into his wine glass, feeling bewilderingly unable to speak.

“Were you worried about bringing it up?” Harry asked gently. “Were you afraid I didn’t feel the same?”

Draco breathed some more, finally finding his voice. “I wasn’t so much worried about that. I just didn’t want to put pressure on you, make you feel like things were moving too fast or… I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Like I was planning our whole life together without consulting you. What you want matters to me too, you know?”

Harry put his glass down and approached Draco, placing a hand gently on his waist. Draco set down his glass as well and made himself meet Harry’s eyes.

“I know that,” Harry said. “But I don’t feel pressured. I told you before, I  _like_ thinking about a future with you. I like the idea of planning a future. That includes children. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking to become a dad tomorrow. I rather like the idea of getting a few years with you all to myself. Rumor has it kids can really put a damper on your sex life.” That made both men chuckle sardonically, remembering Ron’s words at dinner. “But down the road, once we’re married, once we’re ready? Yeah, I want a family. I’ve always wanted one, probably more than you realize. Because in a way I’ve never had one I could really call my own. I mean, you know full well the Dursleys don’t count, not really. And the Weasleys are wonderful, as close as I’ve been able to get so far. But it’s not the same as if I had married into the family like everyone thought I would, before I came out. There will always be a small gap there, whether the Weasleys are willing to acknowledge it or not. And I want something more than that, something that’s  _mine_. Something I made, with someone I love and trust.” His hand tightened on Draco’s waist. “We’ve already hashed and rehashed my trust issues,” he went on wryly, “and you know how hard it is for me to trust someone completely. But I…” He rested his forehead against Draco’s and closed his eyes. “I  _did_ find what I was looking for, in the end. For a while there I wasn’t sure I ever would. But I found you. I found someone to build a life with. And for me, that includes a family. That’s what I want. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear before.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Harry,” Draco said, leaning to give the corner of his mouth the softest of kisses. “There’s no need to be sorry. I guess I just wanted to know… I didn’t want to come into this with me assuming one thing and you assuming another. I just want us to be on the same page about things, I suppose. While at the same time being open to whatever comes, obviously. But the issue of children specifically had come up a couple of times and I suppose I just wanted to make my feelings clear, in case there was any question. And I wanted to know where you stand.”

“And do you, now?” Harry asked, opening his eyes.

“Yes,” said Draco. “You want a family. A child. Someday.” He wasn’t sure if it was relief or elation filling his chest with lightness. Probably a bit of both.

“More than one child, if you’re up for it,” answered Harry with a tilted smile. “A boy and a girl, at least.”

Draco found himself grinning. “And if we end up with two of the same?”

“Then I don’t see the harm in seeing what happens with a third,” Harry replied, his smile stretching just as wide.

“Three children, hm?” said Draco, pretending to think that over. “I could be open to that.” He paused, wondering what else he wanted to know. “Adoption or surrogacy?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not fussed either way. Wherever our children come from, I’ll love them. I know better than anyone that parent-child relationships don’t have to be defined by blood. Although I’ll admit that the idea of a mini-Draco or two running around would be pretty cute.”

“Or a mini-Harry.”

The brunet shrugged again. “Maybe one of each. We can discuss it when the time comes.”

“Sure. And we should be married first.”

“I think so. Mostly because I want to marry you someday.” Draco’s heart did an embarrassing little fluttering thing at that, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. “But also just because it will make things easier on the legal end of things. Especially if we use a surrogate.”

“But mostly because you want to be married to me,” Draco teased, giving him a kiss.

Harry cheeks turned pink. “Yes, mostly that. But that’s something I don’t want to over-plan. I want it to be a surprise when I propose to you.”

Draco scoffed. “Who said it’s  _you_ that will be doing the proposing?”

Harry laughed, looking so incandescently happy for a moment that it made Draco ache. “We’ll just have to see who gets to it first, won’t we?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at the brunet. “Hmmm.”

“Uh-oh, I can already see that clever brain working away,” said Harry. “I think I need to distract you with something else.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” Draco asked, his hands drifting unconsciously to Harry’s perfect arse.

“Next year,” said Harry. “Our living situation at Hogwarts. Minerva wants to know if we’ll be sharing or separate.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting, but it was still a welcome topic, nonetheless.

“Come on, have a sit-down,” Harry suggested. “I’ll grab her letter to me with our options and we can discuss what we want.”

They got comfortable on the sofa in Harry’s sitting room, glasses of wine in hand, and looked at the headmistress’ suggestions.

“First of all,” said Harry. “Is the question of whether or not we want to share quarters. I suppose I’ll just come right out and say that it would be my preference for us to share. I’m going to want to spend every night with you anyway. It seems silly to me for us to be always going back and forth from each other’s rooms like last year.”

“I agree,” said Draco, glad neither of them felt a need to demure about this. “Now that we’re… committed, it’s the next logical step.” Maybe it would seem fast to some people, them essentially moving in together after only a month. But it hadn’t been only a month, not really. It had been a long time coming. And they had been discussing marriage and children only moment’s ago. Sharing a bed every night was hardly as serious as that.

“Good then,” replied Harry, looking over the parchment in his hand. Draco scooted closer to him on the sofa, so he could follow along with what Harry was reading. “After that it’s a matter of location, size, layout…”

“How much leeway do we have?”

“The castle can create whatever we need, within reason,” said Harry. “It’s a very flexible wizardspace, as you may remember, especially when it comes to the residential wings.”

“So whatever we design now, we can change later, as our needs change.” Like if they needed to add a nursery, or a second bedroom later on.

“Exactly. We can figure out what we want for this coming year and go from there. Minerva has to approve it, of course. It won’t work without her say-so. But I have a feeling that so long as we ask for something reasonable, she will happily go with it. She has her own opinions and thoughts, of course.”

“And what are those?”

Harry read aloud to Draco some of the things she was suggesting, like how it might be better if the shared quarters still remained near enough to Gryffindor tower for Harry’s head of house duties to not be affected. Draco was fine with that. Harry’s rooms from the year before had not been far from his Potions classroom.

Harry wrote down everything they discussed on a separate sheet of parchment, ready to send to McGonagall so she could make the arrangements accordingly.

“What will we tell the students about us, if they ask?” It was something Draco hadn’t considered before now.

“Well, they’ll have seen it in the papers,” Harry pointed out. “So they’ll already know.”

“True,” said Draco. “But they’re teenagers, so some of them are bound to ask, like the nosey little blighters they are.”

Harry laughed. “I suppose we tell them it’s none of their business. Keep an air of mystery about the whole thing.”

“And make sure we’re not caught snogging in one of our classrooms in between periods, or in the corridors after hours.”

Harry pouted, rather seductively, actually. “That’s a shame, because I was looking forward to finally getting to kiss you anytime I felt like it.” He set his empty wine glass down and moved closer to Draco on the sofa. “It was torture for me, being around you so much last year without being able to touch you.”

Draco hummed. “Torture you say? A bit of an exaggeration.”

Harry leaned in closer. “Not for me.”

Draco felt his lips twitch in a smile. “Well, then. I suppose we’ll have to sneak a little something in during the day, every now and then. I wouldn’t want you to be in  _pain_ , after all.”

“That really would be best,” Harry replied solemnly, his green eyes wide behind his glasses. 

“And then, of course, there will be the nights,” Draco said, reaching up to trace Harry’s bottom lip with his thumb. “Together, to do whatever we want.”

Harry released a shaky breath. “Everything we want.”

“Yes.”

Harry kissed Draco’s thumb, and the blond’s hand drifted to Harry’s cheek. The brunet leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

“I suppose you… still want to wait, though?” he said tentatively. “Until then?”

Draco swallowed as he watched Harry open his eyes once more, pinning Draco with that look that always got his blood sizzling. The man was damn seductive, and it was getting harder and harder to resist. They’d only fooled around once more after the day of the hospital visit, one night curled up on Harry’s sofa watching a film. It was dark, they’d had a couple glasses of firewhiskey, and Harry was just so  _warm_ beside him. One thing had led to another and suddenly they were frotting on the sofa again.

But that was the only other time. They had yet to spend the night together. They had yet to get fully naked or use more than their hands. It was a step they both seemed cautious to take. And yet as time went on the more charged these moments felt, the more Draco started wondering if it was pointless to wait any longer. His mind drifted to it unconsciously all the time.

 _He wants to marry me. He wants a future with me. We’ll be living together at Hogwarts_.

What was he waiting for?

“Not especially,” he found himself saying softly, enjoying the small gasp it elicited from Harry. “I’d rather not wait another second, actually.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Harry said, pulling Draco to him. Their mouths collided with the clacking of teeth and a flurry of tongues, but neither seemed to care. They were enjoying the release too much, the finally giving in, the knowing where it was going to go.

Hands tangled in Draco’s hair and in Harry’s shirt. Bodies swayed towards each other, Harry’s slightly larger frame winning out, sending Draco tumbling back onto the sofa cushions. A quick removal of his glasses and Harry was on him, snogging him furiously, making for the buttons of his shirt with eager hands. Draco arched into it, encouraging him. When the shirt was open and Draco’s bare chest exposed, Harry growled with delight.

“So beautiful,” he whispered. “ _Fuck._ ”

His mouth descended to one of Draco’s nipples, sucking it and then nipping it with just enough sharpness to make Draco’s cock twitch. Draco moaned unabashedly, just enjoying the sensations of Harry’s mouth on him this way. It really had been too long.

Wanting to feel Harry’s bare skin as well, Draco made to reach for his shirt. But Harry pulled away suddenly, leaving Draco completely bereft of his touch. Confused, Draco stared up at him, watching the man lick his lips and regard Draco with hungry eyes.

“Harry?”

“I want you in my bed,” he said, his voice rough with want. “Let’s do this properly, yeah?”

Draco could only nod vigorously in agreement. A bed would be great, with freedom to move, freedom to roam. They could take their time. They could rediscover each other.

After re-donning his glasses, Harry helped Draco off the sofa and led him through the house, his hand never leaving Draco’s own. They made their way up the stairs in silence, but Harry kept glancing at him, the warmest smile gracing his lips, and Draco found his anticipation mounting with every step.

They reached Harry’s room, with that familiar bed, a bed Draco had spent some incredible nights in already. The bed where they’d shared more than a few firsts together. He turned around to face Harry, almost expecting to be mauled immediately. But Harry just stood there, looking at him.

“You all right?” Draco asked him. “Getting cold feet?”

“Not even remotely,” said Harry. “I’m just… really enjoying the sight of you. So much I don’t even know where I want to start.”

Draco smiled, stepping closer. “How about with these?” he suggested, pulling Harry’s glasses off. “Then you won’t be overwhelmed by the sight of me anymore.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m near-sighted, you prat. I can still see you.” He eyes descended to Draco’s open shirt, then back up to his lips, as if to prove the point.

“Well,” Draco said cheekily. “I tried. I guess you’re on your own.”

“Mm,” said Harry, biting his lip. “Not a problem, actually. I know what I want now.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?” Draco asked. He had a feeling it involved getting him naked and on the bed. That’s where this was going, wasn’t it?

To his surprise though, Harry went for a kiss first, and what a kiss it was. Harry devoured him, seeking out every crevice with his tongue, working the lips with his teeth until they felt swollen and oh-so sensitive. His hands tangled in Draco’s hair again, making it an absolute mess. Draco went with it happily, enjoying every sensation. He actually let a small whine escape him when Harry finally pulled away.

There was a ghost of a smirk on the brunet’s kiss-red lips. “I want to see you looking totally wrecked,” he said. “Before I even get you naked.”

Draco swallowed loudly, not really knowing what that meant. But then Harry dropped to his knees and Draco’s mind went blank. He realized he’d never had Harry in this exact position before, despite all the things they had done together. His cock stiffened at the sight, as Harry stared up at him with lust-clouded eyes and parted lips, as if eager to serve him.

“Are you hard for me, Draco?” he asked.

Draco didn’t even get a chance to answer, because suddenly Harry’s face was nuzzling him, feeling for himself the erection straining Draco’s trousers.

“You are,” Harry said, as if in awe. He mouthed at Draco’s cock through the fabric, making the blond moan. “I can smell it too, how much you want it. Gods. I can’t get enough.” He gripped Draco’s arse with kneading hands, absolutely burying himself, his mouth working all the while.

Knees weak, Draco searched almost blindly for anything to hold him upright. Harry’s head was the only thing within reach, and he gripped the hair harder than he intended. But Harry seemed to like it, if the groan that reverberated through Draco’s groin was any indication. 

“Harry,” Draco said, loving the stimulation but needing more. “Please.”

Harry paused long enough to look up at him again. “Hmm… I don’t know if you’re quite wrecked enough yet. Doesn’t seem like it.”

To Draco’s dismay (and pleasure), Harry returned to his task, getting his hands much more involved now. One ventured down his arse to tease his sac while the other rubbed expertly at his erection. It was enough to keep Draco hard and wanting but not nearly enough to satisfy. The barrier of fabric dulled the sensations, and Draco was craving the sense of completeness that only skin-on-skin contact could achieve.

“Harry,” Draco gasped, knowing he was about to beg and not caring in the slightest. “I can’t… I’m already wrecked. I’m already so gone for you. Please. I can’t… I need more. I need  _you_. Please.”

Harry stood so quickly Draco nearly fell over in surprise. But Harry caught him by the arms and kept him standing, pulling him into another incredible kiss.

“How can I resist you when you sound like that?” the brunet asked.

Draco didn’t bother answering, because Harry’s hands were going for his belt and the fly of his trousers and that was exactly what he had been waiting for. The relief of feeling his erection finally spring free was so good he moaned, and Harry, spurred on, dropped to his knees once more.

With Draco’s trousers and pants now pooled around his ankles, Harry had an unobstructed view, and he seemed to be quite enjoying it. For a moment he simply admired Draco’s hard cock as it stood to attention in front of him. Then he leaned forward, and Draco was so ready for him that even the light puff of Harry’s breath made him twitch in pleasure. Harry gently, lovingly, kissed the tip, then let his tongue flit out, dancing along the slit, which was leaking plenty of precum for him. Harry hummed and met Draco’s eyes.

“You taste so good,” he said, his voice soft. “Even better than I remember. I don’t know how I went so long without tasting you.”

Draco swallowed thickly, hoping these words meant Harry was about to take him fully into his mouth. He didn’t, though, but instead dipped underneath, tonguing Draco’s bollocks and kissing the underside of his cock. They were all teasing touches, pleasurable but still not satisfying his needs.

 _He’s still trying to get me wrecked, the minx,_ Draco thought, watching him from above.  _He knows just how to have me completely at his mercy._ He could hardly bring himself to mind, though, not with the way Harry looked on his knees, how clearly he was enjoying this. Harry knew pleasure, and he knew Draco; he understood both thoroughly. 

So Draco gave in, letting Harry have his way, and that surrender was almost as sweet as the fire building in his gut with every touch. He found he couldn’t stay standing anymore, his legs shaking, his head dizzy.

“The bed, Harry,” he suggested breathlessly. “Then you can do whatever you want to me.”

Harry seemed quite happy with that idea, since he quickly removed Draco’s shoes and socks. Draco stepped out of his trousers and pants and let his open shirt fall down his arms. Now he was completely naked, exposed to Harry’s perusal.

“Lie down on the bed, love,” Harry said. “Let me look at you.”

Draco did, and it was a relief to not have to keep himself upright. He sighed, closing his eyes, enjoying this, as well as the anticipation of everything that would come after.

“Beautiful,” he heard Harry whisper, and he opened his eyes to see the brunet staring at him, still fully clothed. He stood there, his eyes roaming, taking his time, and Draco had the thought that they might be content to just stay there forever, looking at each other, except for one small detail.

“What about you?’ he said. “Don’t I get to see you too?”

Harry gave him the smallest of smirks. “All of me?”

“All of you. I always want to see all of you, remember?”

Those were the magic words, as he knew they would be. Harry pulled his jumper over his head, exposing his deliciously tan chest, before starting on the fly of his jeans. It wasn’t long until he too was completely bare, and Draco let his eyes feast on all that skin, those toned muscles, his hard cock, and the intricate pattern of scars. Draco smiled. He knew them all; every last one.

“It’s  _exactly_ how I remember,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten a single inch of you, you know.”

Harry climbed onto the bed. “No? Not a single inch? Are you sure?”

“Of course,” Draco insisted as Harry came to hover above him.

“You’re  _absolutely certain_ you don’t need your memory refreshed?”

Laughing, Draco moved quickly, flipping their positions. Harry allowed it, bouncing a little as he flopped onto the bed.

“Well, I suppose it never hurts to  _check_ ,” he said. He dipped his head so his lips traced a gentle path down the center of Harry’s sternum. The brunet gasped, then moaned as Draco’s mouth found one of his nipples. Draco teased it with the tip of his tongue, using tiny flicks, and Harry arched into it. “I remember how much you like that,” he said.

“What else do you remember?” he asked.

Draco gave him a carnal grin. “Hmmm, let’s see. I remember these…” His fingers traced the outline of ribs along Harry’s right side, always a hotspot when stroked gently. Harry shivered under his touch, biting his lip as he watched Draco work. “And, of course, the skin right…  _here_.” He bent down and licked along the soft flesh of Harry’s hips, right above the crease of his pelvis. “And  _here_.” Hands teased the back of Harry’s thighs, directly below his arse. Harry sighed happily. “And then there are, naturally, the most obvious places.” He moved one hand to gently cup Harry’s bollocks, while at the same time pressing into Harry’s perineum with one knuckle. Harry moaned wantonly and writhed some more. Draco kept up the movement, massaging in small circles just to watch Harry enjoy it.

“Draco,” he whispered. “More, please.”

“You want me to hit the most obvious spot of all, I suppose,” said Draco, and maintained eye contact with Harry as he took the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth and sucked lightly. Harry cried out but didn’t break the gaze. “More?” Draco asked, already knowing the answer.

Harry nodded so vigorously his neck popped. Smiling, Draco took more into his mouth, getting about halfway down the shaft, appreciating the sounds of desperation being ripped from Harry’s throat.

 _He hasn’t had a mouth on him since the last time we did this together_ , Draco realized, and the thought was heady.  _He waited for me._ It brought up feelings so tender in him that he had to close his eyes a moment, savoring them, savoring  _this_ , getting to bring Harry pleasure again after all this time.

“Draco,” Harry said, spreading his legs a little wider. “Will you prepare me?”

Pulled from his thoughts, Draco opened his eyes and released the cock from his mouth. Harry’s didn’t complain, only waited for him to do something more. But Draco was hesitating.

He had a decision to make, and, even though he was quite enjoying having Harry like this, he realized he wanted something entirely different to happen. He shook his head.

“No,” he said, while Harry gave him a bewildered expression. “I want  _you_ to prepare  _me._ ”

Harry blinked. “You do?”

“Yes. If… if that’s all right.”

“But I thought… after that night. I thought maybe it was too much for you, bottoming. I thought maybe you didn’t like it. I thought that was part of the reason-”

“I loved it,” Draco said. “It was brilliant. Perfect. Because it was with you. That was what frightened me away, how  _right_ it felt with you, how deep my feelings were becoming. It wasn’t the sex; it was the fact that it was… so much  _more_. I couldn’t handle it at the time. I wasn’t ready. But I’m ready now. And this is what I want, so long as it’s what you want as well.”

Harry propped himself up on his elbows. “I loved being inside you. It was much more than sex for me too, that night.”

“I know,” Draco said, yet still glad to hear the words. “We didn’t just fuck. We… made love. You made love to me.”

“Yes,” Harry said simply. “I did.”

“I want that again, tonight. I want to feel everything I felt that night, only better, because now I can let myself have it without being afraid. I can be free to feel it all and not hold anything back. Later, we can do other things. We can have each other in any and every way we can imagine. But tonight…”

Harry sat up. “This is what you want.”

“Yes.”

“It’s what I want too.”

Draco smiled brightly. “Yeah?”

Harry’s only response was to pull Draco into a fierce kiss. Draco clutched Harry to him, letting himself fall as Harry twisted them over. Harry’s weight on top of him was welcome and warm, and when Harry pulled back a little and bent his head, Draco closed his eyes. The sensations were all possessive, exploring hands and a wet, sharp mouth, and it was so easy to get lost in it that Draco nearly forgot the purpose of it all. At least, until Harry’s tongue was dancing along the skin below his navel, then going lower still. Then Draco remembered  _exactly_ where this was going.

“Harry,” Draco gasped as the brunet’s mouth bypassed his cock and went lower still, as that gentle cleansing charm was cast inside him. “ _Harry._ ”

Harry simply hummed onto his skin in acknowledgment, then rolled his hips back to access his entrance. Draco felt his hole pulse with need and anticipation. It was an area he had not allowed a lot of other men near; he had not trusted them enough. But that had never been an issue with Harry.

All his lover had to do was breathe on him and he was already moaning. When that powerful tongue flicked out and delivered its first lick, Draco spread his legs and moaned some more. Gods, he had missed this too. Not just the sensation of Harry’s mouth  _there_ , on him, in him, but the freedom to completely give in, to not have to think about how he looked or what his lover thought of him. The freedom to be himself. It made him want to scream with joy.

So scream he did, and moan, and sob, and laugh. Harry tongue-fucked him with sure, slow thrusts, groaning in enjoyment as Draco ran the bottom of a foot across Harry’s back and then loosely wrapped his legs around him.

“Gods, I could almost come from this,” he told Harry. “I want to touch my cock so badly it’s driving me mad.”

Harry pulled away, replacing his tongue with two fingers. “I know. But not yet, love,” he said, kissing Draco’s inner thigh. “The more I build, the better it will be.”

“Seeing if I can come untouched again?” Draco asked with a smirk.

Harry smirked back. “However you end up coming, I’m going to make sure it’s incredible.”

Draco laughed, cradling the top of Harry’s head a moment. “As if I would ever doubt you.”

Harry grinned with a glistening mouth and then dipped his head again to continue his work, alternating between eating Draco out and scissoring his fingers to stretch him. It was so pleasurable that Draco barely noticed he was being stretched at all, though when Harry finally pulled away and declared him ready, Draco did feel looser, relaxed.

“Want to try riding me?” the brunet asked him. “I’d really love to watch you take my cock.”

“Sure,” said Draco, game for trying something new, even if it was their first time in months. “So long as we finish with me on my back. I want to feel you fucking me until you come, like last time.”

Harry moaned, licked his lips, and said, “Deal.”

They got into position, Harry lying down on his back and Draco straddling him. Though he’d never done anything like this before, he figured intuition would be his best guide. Together they lubed up Harry’s cock, and Draco scooted forward to align himself with it.

Harry gripped it, guiding it towards Draco’s entrance as the blond sank down. He felt the head push against his hole before gravity helped it breach the tight space. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath to relax, knowing that even though Harry had been inside him before, it would be important to go slow. He lowered himself even more, and the cock went in further, already making him feel full, just halfway inside.

“Merlin,” he gasped, unable to help it.

“You’re doing great, love. Take your time,” Harry encouraged, running his hands gently up and down Draco’s thighs.

Draco followed the advice, continuing to breathe deeply and evenly as he went lower and lower, as he became fuller and fuller, until he had finally taken in all he could and his arse was nestled against Harry’s pelvis.

Both men groaned at the sensation, and Draco opened his eyes, finally, to look down at Harry. The brunet was watching him with what might have been awe, though perhaps it was simply overwhelming pleasure.

“Still so tight for me, baby,” Harry whispered. “You feel so good.”

“I’ve never had this with anyone else,” Draco found himself saying. “No one else has ever had me like this. Only you. This is ours. Just ours.”

Harry sat up, gripping Draco about the waist to steady both of them. He placed his lips on Draco’s neck, giving him a few slow, gentle kisses, before meeting his eyes.

“I’ve never loved anyone but you,” he said. “And I never will. That’s ours too.”

Heart flying, Draco bent and kissed him consumingly. Then he pulled away, pushed against Harry’s chest to get him to lie back down, and said, “Let me ride you. Let me show you how much I love you.”

Harry did, watching with parted lips as Draco lifted himself up a few inches, slowly, cautiously, and then sank back down. Harry gasped the first time, then groaned the second, and Draco felt bolder. He had adjusted well, and the slide of the cock inside him like this, with him in control, was unexpectedly satisfying. He lifted himself higher and dropped again, harder this time, and Harry’s hands automatically went to Draco’s hips. With their steadying guidance Draco could up the pace, and so he did, bouncing on Harrys cock with new confidence, breathing ragged as he felt it brush his prostate once, then again, then again.

“Harry,” he moaned.

“Yeah, baby, like that,” Harry answered, his grip tightening on Draco’s hips and his own hips starting to thrust upwards. “So  _good_ , Draco.”

Draco bounced faster and Harry thrust harder, hard enough that his sweet spot was hit dead on. He cried out, head tossed back. “ _Harry_. Gods, right there. Oh, fuck. Don’t stop.”

Harry hammered his prostate few more times, Draco, lost in pleasure, merely along for the ride. But then Harry sat up, stopping their movements altogether, and the pleasure in Draco’s gut faded to a thrumming ache.

“What-“

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, bending to kiss his neck again. “I have to. I’m so close to coming, and I want this to last a bit longer.”

There was something so hot about that, about knowing that Harry was teetering right on the edge. It made Draco want to squeeze around him, send him falling, milk him of cum, just to watch Harry’s face as it happened. But he also wanted this to last a bit longer as well, so he hummed his assent.

“Take me, then,” he said. “Do what you need to do.”

Harry rolled them over, still inside, hitching up Draco’s hips to penetrate more deeply. Draco sighed, loving the intrusion.

Harry licked and kissed his neck, then pulled out slowly. Pushing back in caused both men to moan, and Harry did it again, still achingly slow.

“My body was made for yours, Draco,” Harry said. “This is where I belong.”

“Yes.  _Yes,_ ” said Draco, responding both to the words and the way Harry’s erection brushed over his sweet spot again and again. It was so slow, the way it dragged over it, the way the pleasure lasted so long each time, that it was almost like a continuous orgasm, but without the satisfaction of release. A delicious torture that Draco decided to embrace. He was painfully hard, his cock so far completely ignored by either of their hands, but he was not to the point of begging, not yet. He could go a bit longer like this. “I love you, Harry. Fuck, I love you so much.”

Harry thrust a little harder, a little faster, his hands tightening on Draco like he was terrified of letting go. “Draco,” he whispered. “You are everything to me.”

“Everything,” Draco echoed.

And then the dam broke, and Harry was fucking him hard and fast, and Draco was clawing at his back and arching into him, crying, “Yes, yes, yes! Harry, oh Harry!”

“You gonna come for me, baby?” Harry asked, sounding desperate and breathless. Draco could tell, by the way he was shaking, that Harry was doing everything he could to hold himself back, a second away from giving in.

“So close,” Draco told his lover. “So close, just a little… just something…” He was reaching and reaching, but couldn’t quite get there. But then a hand found his cock, giving it one gentle stroke, and suddenly he was consumed, pure sensation as his cock pulsed between their two bodies.

It didn’t stop, not even as Harry went still inside him and came with a deep, intense cry of ecstasy. He thrust a few more times, filling Draco completely before dropping his head into Draco’s neck once more. They shuddered together for what felt like a long time, breathing hard, letting little moans escape them with each aftershock of pleasure. Harry didn’t pull out until both of their cocks were soft and spent, and he never removed his arms from around Draco. They lay there, in their stickiness, sweat, and joy, perfectly content to never move again.

Finally, though, Draco could feel himself getting sleepy, and he knew some cleaning would have to happen. He shifted, making to reach for his wand. But Harry murmured, “Here, let me,” and got to it first. 

He felt Harry’s magic wash over him, which was its own kind of pleasure, and he relaxed further into the mattress. When he realized Harry hadn’t rejoined him completely, however, he opened his eyes to find the brunet propped on one elbow, looking at him. He smiled.

“Worth waiting a few months for?” he asked.

Harry ran a hand through Draco’s hair, his thumb lingering lovingly at the temple. “Worth waiting twenty-six years for, in fact,” he said.

Draco’s smile widened. “Yes, it was.” Harry continued to stare at him, and Draco could feel himself drifting. He wanted Harry’s warmth again. “Come here, love,” he said. “Be with me. Stay with me.”

Harry nestled into him with a contented sigh, holding him close. “Always,” he whispered, just as Draco slipped into sleep.

***

Draco awoke to a tapping on the window and turned over in bed. He felt the familiar weight of Harry’s arm around him, and he clutched it to him a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was leave the warmth of Harry’s embrace. But the tapping was persistent. He groaned, annoyed.

He slipped out of bed, fully naked, and groped around for his summer robe, a fine silk one that wrapped at the waist. Putting it on, he glanced back at Harry, still asleep in his bed, and couldn’t suppress a surge of joy. It had been only a few days since the night of the Weasley-Granger dinner, but he and Harry had already slipped into a nice routine. They spent most of their days together, preparing for their departure to Hogwarts (which was happening the very next day in fact), getting in some last-minute socializing with friends, and, at night, pleasuring each other in bed, in all the ways they already knew how, and some new ways too. It was like they had never stopped. It was like what they had before, only better.

The tapping interrupted his musings and, grumbling, he went to the window. He stopped cold, freezing at the sight of his mother’s tawny owl. Mouth dry, heart suddenly hammering, he opened the window and let the owl inside.

“It’s been a while,” he said to her as he made to untie the letter from her leg. It was not a Howler, much to his relief, not that he actually expected his mother to send one. She had never been one for shouting. Cold, quiet dismissiveness was more her style, when she wanted to be disapproving. 

The owl flew off as soon as the letter was retrieved, not even pausing to ask for a treat. Mentally shrugging, Draco closed the window and went to sit on the edge of his bed, the letter clutched in his trembling hand. He knew it must be from his mother. The owl was indication enough, but it was further confirmed by the handwriting of the address.

What did she have to say to him now, after weeks of not saying anything at all? He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know. After a few deep breaths, though, he made himself open it and read.

 

_My Dearest Draco,_

_Your father and I arrived home yesterday after a quite lengthy and altogether enjoyable stay in Cassis. Antony’s villa was more than comfortable and quite tastefully furnished. I didn’t particularly want to leave. But there is plenty of business to attend to here and I will admit that my fair skin was getting quite a bit more sun than perhaps it ought._

_The holiday was made all the more… interesting, shall we say, by your letters. I rather enjoyed reading of your adventures, surprising as they were, while I looked out on the ocean and tried to imagine you in London and at the manor, socializing with Mr. Potter, my sister, and the young Master Lupin. It was a strange picture, to be sure. But not altogether unwelcome, in some respects._

_I am struggling to come to terms with everything that has changed for you in the past year, Draco. And, as well as you know me, you will also know how difficult that is for me to admit. At the heart of this struggle is the reality that before your letter told us so, I had no idea that any of this was going on in your life. There was no hint of it at Christmas, though I could see easily that there was plenty bothering you. I thought it about the divorce and your father’s behavior. But you disguise yourself well, my son, and I will admit that the nature of your own internal struggle was completely shrouded to my notice, until you explained it outright. What kind of mother am I, I have continually asked myself, to have not seen it before? It seems I have failed you in more ways than one._

_This is one reason it has taken me so long to return your letters. My complete and utter shock is another. But, most of all, I have found it very difficult to even know what to say. I cannot simply smile, open my arms, and welcome Mr. Potter as a new and future son. I have no understanding of his motives nor trust that he is the best partner for you. The very notion of what he may have to offer you that you could not get elsewhere is, frankly, lost on me. I do not think ill of him, nor do I doubt your judgment. But I don’t really know him. And as your mother, who is so very far from you, that is most disconcerting. I want to lay eyes on you myself. I need to see this happiness you claim to have for myself. But at the moment, such a thing is impossible. I can only hope it will be possible soon._

_While I cannot blindly condone your choice of partner, I can no sooner turn away from you either. You are my child, my legacy, my greatest joy. Your happiness is everything to me. For you to say you have found it, after all that you have been through, does give me hope. It heartens me and gives me fortitude against your father’s attitude and the distance that has grown between you and us._

_So I am choosing to hope. I am choosing to believe that you are building a life of happiness for yourself. I am choosing to believe that time will heal this void and will soften your father’s convictions. I am choosing to believe that Mr. Potter is a good man who will protect your heart rather than break it. And I am choosing to believe that if any of the aforementioned proves to be false, that we are all strong enough to weather it, if we must._

_In writing this letter I hope to convey all this, as well as urge you to be cautious, to think some with your head as well as your heart. And to beg you to never, never stop writing to me. News of my son is the most nourishing sustenance of my life. I cannot lose it._

_With all possible love,_

_Your Mother_

 

Draco wiped his eyes and wondered at the amount of ambivalence his mother had managed to pack into a few paragraphs. She was pleased to hear accounts of him and what he was up to, and yet worried that they were not the best thing for him. She claimed to not doubt his judgment, yet questioned his choice of partner. She spoke eloquently of her love, of how much she wanted to see him, yet was still making the choice to keep her distance for now, no doubt due to her husband’s wishes.

He didn’t know what to make of it.

He barely noticed the stirring behind him, was not fully conscious of it until he felt the presence of a warm body at his back and an arm snaking around his waist.

“An early morning letter?” Harry asked, his voice still rough from sleep. He kissed Draco behind the ear, and the blond found himself already feeling better at the touch.

“From my mother,” he replied.

Harry went still against him, an indication that he too understood the gravity of the moment. “What did she say? That is… only if you want to share, obviously.”

Draco turned to look at his lover, holding the letter out to him. “Feel free to read it, if you like.”

With some caution, Harry took it. At Draco’s urging he backed up, making room for both of them to sit in bed comfortably, propped up by their pillows. Draco watched Harry as he put on his glasses and began to read, hunching over as he always did when absorbed. His face was impassive, though, as he took in the words, and he was utterly silent. Draco had no way of knowing what the brunet would think of Narcissa’s doubts and concerns, at least not yet.

Harry sighed heavily when he finished, folding the letter loosely and handing it back to Draco. “Well,” he said. “I suppose it’s better than we expected.”

“Yeah?” Draco asked, unfolding the letter and looking over it again.

“She wants to stay in contact. She wants to hear how your life is going, even as it relates to me,” said Harry. “And she didn’t really mention your sexuality, which I think is interesting. But probably good. It must mean she approves. Or at least doesn’t  _disapprove_.”

“I suppose,” said Draco. “But she doesn’t trust you as my choice. She worries that you’ll hurt me.”

“Yeah, but don’t all mums worry about that? Especially since she hasn’t seen me in years. She has no idea what I’m like, which is essentially the point she makes in the letter. She doesn’t dislike me. She just doesn’t know me.”

Draco stared at the parchment in his hand, his brow furrowed.

“And at the end she has that bit where she basically says she’s willing to be optimistic, which makes me think that when she  _does_ finally meet me, as your partner, then she will keep an open mind. And then we can show her how great we are together,” Harry continued.

“But she gives no indication of when that will be,” Draco countered. “She claims it to be impossible to see us at the moment, which I take to mean not actually impossible, but simply inconvenient. Because of my father.”

Harry considered that. “It must be… difficult to want to do something that your spouse absolutely does not want you to do. She’s pulled in two directions. I’m not saying it’s  _right_ , but she might be trying to keep things… cordial, with your father, keep her marriage intact. Seems to me she believes he’ll come around eventually.”

“That likely is her thinking,” agreed Draco. “But it doesn’t mean I respect the choice. Between my husband and my son, I would choose my son. I mean, no offense. I love you and everything, but if we had a child…”

“If we had a child, there is not a thing in the world that would make me keep you from him or her,” Harry said. “I would never ask you to turn your back on them, for my sake. I would never want that.”

“Then you are a better man than my father. Which, of course, we already knew. It’s not the highest bar to clear, after all.”

Harry chuckled. “True. I just meant… well, far be it for me to pretend to know your mother better than you know her, but what I remember of Narcissa was that she would risk her life for you, force your godfather to make an unbreakable vow for you, do just about everything in her power to protect you. Except when it came to Lucius. If she had been willing to stand up to him in the first place, stop him from allying with Voldemort, your entire family would have been so much safer. But she didn’t do that. She went along with what he wanted. I don’t know why; because she loves him, maybe, and she trusted him to know what was best for the family. Or maybe she’s just never been able to stand up to him.”

“She hasn’t,” Draco said, realizing truly for the first time. “She’s a strong woman in many ways, but she has always deferred to him. I think… I think it was ingrained in her to do that. I don’t know if she knows another way.”

“She can still learn; it’s not too late. But maybe she needs time to figure out how.”

“Or she intends to do what she’s always done when it comes to getting my father to do what she wants: needle him mercilessly until he gives in. It takes longer, but it is often effective.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “Maybe she believes she can convince him to accept you. She is essentially asking for time to do just that.”

Draco sighed. “Yes. It seems that way. I just wish… But it’s stupid to wish for things you’re sure to never have,” he said, cutting himself off. “So what’s the point?”

“You wish she and your father would just accept you as you are? Accept us? You wish it were simple?” Harry supplied gently.

“Yes,” Draco answered, after some hesitation. 

“I don’t think it’s stupid to wish for that. You just have to be willing to accept that it might take a while.”

“It might take years,” Draco said, looking at his partner.

Harry nodded soberly. “It might. But this,” he pointed at the letter, “is at least a step in the right direction. It’s a start, which is better than what you had before.”

Draco’s eyes dropped to the letter once more, reading the final paragraphs again.  _I am choosing to hope_ , his mother had written. He’d never heard her express anything like that before. Her pragmatism was only ever trumped by her love for her family, and he’d only seen it happen a few times in his life.

 _She’s choosing to hope, because she loves me_. 

And no, it was not simple. It would not be easy, and it would probably not be altogether free of pain. But most things worth having were not.

“You’re right,” Draco agreed, taking Harry’s hand in his. “It’s a start.”

 


	21. Epilogue: A Continuing Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally done! Sorry it took me so long again. This ended up being a lot more involved than I expected. I also may have indulged in the fluff a little... *grins sheepishly*
> 
> It's just so hard to see this one come to an end! Over a year of my life went into this, and I'm pretty sure it's the most personal thing I have ever written, including all of my original work. I have drawn from my own experience in some way for almost every character, and I've gotten very attached. I don't know what to do with myself now! (Actually, just kidding. There's so much else to do right now it's not even funny. But still...)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this final, fluffy installment. This is it for the main story, though some bonus one-shots and ficlets are tumbling around in my brain already. If there's anything you want to see in the extras that isn't already covered, just let me know! And, of course, I always love to hear what you thought of my work. Entertaining you and bringing you happiness is the reason I do this. Thank you so much to those who have been along for the duration. You made this experience truly incredible.
> 
> And with that being said, I'll just leave you with the epilogue, plus lots of hugs and kisses and love from me. XOXO,
> 
> -Thunderbird <3

**_5 Years Later_ **

“What I’ve discovered,” Raisie McNeal said, watching the surface of her bubbling potion avidly, “is that I need to allow the dragon scales time to fully dissolve before I add the liquid Asphodel. That’s what was going wrong before.”

“Mm,” Draco hummed, watching her work. “Might be that the keratin in the scales was negating the effects and needed time to break down.”

“I think that’s probably the case,” his apprentice agreed.

“How will you know when the scales are dissolved?”

“I watch the potion,” she replied, her brow furrowing. “Very, very carefully.” She bent over the cauldron, almost blocking Draco’s view of it. He pulled up a chair, sitting so that his gaze was at a low enough angle to see properly. Raisie did not take her eyes off the liquid, her entire face pinched in concentration. It was an expression Draco had become very familiar with, especially during these two most recent years, with her as his apprentice.

She had changed a lot, and yet, in some ways, not at all. She hadn’t gotten taller, really, only filled out a bit, so she looked more like a woman than a girl. Her hair was the same sandy blonde, which she wore in a knot on top of her head most days she worked at Hogwarts with him, to keep it out of the way. It showed off the delicate features of her face that had sharpened in adulthood. Still, she looked very similar to how she had at fifteen.

But she had grown considerably in other ways. Her confidence as a potioneer had solidified, and she had a thoughtful, considering approach to almost every problem she tackled. This was rounded out with enough humility to keep her grounded, something Draco had worked hard to instill in her as much as the confidence. She remained, to this day, Draco’s very favorite student, and he always felt a sense of paternal pride swelling within him when he thought about how far she had come.

“It’s ready,” she said in a decisive tone, reaching for the small vial on the table next to her.  She popped off the cork and emptied the vial into the cauldron. The potion within immediately began to bubble more enthusiastically, forming a lavender-colored foam along the surface.

“ _That’s_ interesting,” Draco remarked.

“An annoying byproduct,” she said. “The foam has to be skimmed off repeatedly during this next phase of brewing, so the potion can oxygenate. But we’ll wait until it gets a little thicker.”

“Have you tested it?” Draco asked. “The foam, I mean.”

She looked at him blankly.

“To see if it has any useful properties of its own. I was just curious. Sometimes these byproducts can be unexpectedly useful in their own right.”

“I haven’t been saving it,” she admitted, looking chagrinned. “I’ve just been tossing it in the bin.”

“Ah, well, can’t hurt to keep some, run some diagnostics,” he said. “I’ll fetch us a bowl, shall I?”

He found one readily in his supply closet and returned to her.

“This is why you’re the master and I’m the apprentice,” she said with a sheepish smile, using a charm to swipe a layer of foam off the top of the potion and levitating it into the bowl. “I never would have thought to preserve this stuff.”

“You can’t say that for much longer, you know,” he replied with a smirk. “You are literally weeks away from completing your mastery.”

She sighed. “Don’t remind me. There’s still so much to do between now and then.”

“Like finishing the conclusion to your thesis?” he replied archly.

Her mouth twitched as she skimmed more foam out of the cauldron. “That’s the least of my worries. I’ve always been an efficient writer.”

“True,” Draco agreed.

“I’m much more nervous about my defense. I’m convinced I’ll get tongue-tied and not be able to answer a single question the panel has for me. I just know I’m going to forget something important.”

“I’ve seen the list, and you have very fair-minded masters for your panel,” Draco assured her. “They’ll likely throw some easy questions at you first, to let you get settled in. But you know your research back to front to upside-down. There isn’t anything you can’t answer, I know it.”

She sighed, continuing to skim. The foam collecting in the bowl was already starting to settle back into a liquid, and Draco found himself curious as to what it was. More of the same potion that was in the cauldron, or something entirely different? He was looking forward to doing some experimentation.

“It’s just intimidating,” Raisie said, calling Draco’s attention back to her. “Going before the most brilliant minds in Potions to justify nearly six years of work.”

“Funny, because you never have any problems explaining your ideas to  _me_ ,” Draco said, grinning. “I suppose it’s that I’m just not brilliant enough for you to be properly intimidated.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she said, her mouth breaking into a real grin of amusement. “I found you quite intimidating at the start of my fourth year, in fact. But now you  _know_ me. You’ve watched this whole process and you know everything I’ve been through. The panel, on the other hand, will be a bunch of strangers whose sole job is to determine the merits of my work based on the results alone. And if they don’t like them, then that’s it. I must start completely over, mustn’t I?”

“What in the world makes you think they won’t approve of your work?” Draco asked, genuinely flabbergasted. “You’ve invented a universal antidote that counteracts almost a dozen of the world’s most common poisons. There isn’t even the slightest chance that they won’t be completely blown away.”

“It’s only for the most common poisons, as you point out,” she said softly. “Not for  _all_ of them.”

Draco snorted. “You really are too hard on yourself. Although, I suppose it’s one of your greatest virtues as well as greatest faults, that you’ll never stop pushing. It’s why, some day, you’re bound to invent an antidote that really will counteract all poisons.”

Rather than take the praise, she merely looked at him soberly. “Maybe I could. But then it pops into my head that anyone with enough determination to do harm could invent a new poison that isn’t counteracted by the antidote. And then what would I do?”

“Alter the antidote to counteract that one as well.”

“And if they invent another poison?”

Draco shrugged, indicating his answer was the same.

“The work never ends, is the point you’re making, I suppose.”

“The point I’m making, if I’m trying to make one at all,” Draco replied, “is that there will always be those who are determined to do harm. Which is why it’s so important for there also to be people who are determined to prevent them from doing so, to the best of their ability. And your ability is quite great, so I like our chances.”

She snuck a demure, pleased glance his way, as if wondering if he was being serious. “You’re being quite complimentary today,” she pointed out.

“And you’re being quite glum,” he replied. “Which isn’t like you.”

She gave a small shrug, staring into the cauldron. The foam had stopped forming, and so she turned down the heat and began stirring the potion counter-clockwise.

“Feeling nostalgic at the end of your mastery?” he ventured. “You did tell me once that Hogwarts was the only place you were properly happy.”

“That may be part of it,” she said. “I suppose I just have a lot of things to consider. About what happens next.”

“You’ve heard back from Lindsey Bergeron, I suppose?”

The glance she gave him was knowing this time. “You know I have. You two talk regularly enough.”

It was true. Draco had kept quite a strong professional and friendly connection with Lindsey over the years, though she was still based out of Toronto. They owled regularly, sharing thoughts on the latest potions research as well as the day-to-day details of their lives. Draco was especially thankful of this, since he had been worried early on that the short-lived but intense relationship he’d had with her brother would dampen their friendship permanently. 

But that hadn’t happened. It probably helped that about six months after their breakup Kyle had discovered that one of his coworkers was harboring a quite substantial, secret affection for him, and had been since Kyle started at the Ministry. They fell madly in love after only one date, according to Lindsey, and were now happily married. And so any animosity either Bergeron sibling had once felt towards Draco was utterly gone, much to his delight.

“She told me she’s offered you a post,” he admitted to Raisie. “But she said nothing about whether or not you had accepted.”

“That’s because I haven’t. Yet.”

“Do you think you will?”

She bit her lip. “Most people would tell me I’d be a fool to turn it down.  _She’s_ brilliant, and what she could teach me… not to mention the access I would have, the resources… the means to really explore what interests me. It would be incredible.”

“Yes, it would.”

“If it were solely… if I…” She paused, finishing the stirring of her potion and removing it from the heat altogether. “If the only considerations I had were regarding my professional life, I would take the offer in a heartbeat.”

“So there’s something personal holding you back, then? Your family?” Draco knew it was hard enough on Raisie’s parents, her being magical while they were not. It already cast them into different worlds. To have her move overseas might feel like even more of a trial. 

She shook her head. “They would support me, though they would be sad to have me so far away.” She met his eyes over the cauldron. “Cole’s asked me to marry him.”

Draco hesitated, wondering what about that would be an obstacle to her plans. “Have you accepted him?” His eyes fell automatically to her left hand, which was devoid of a ring. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She never wore jewelry when she brewed.

“I haven’t yet given him an answer,” she murmured, gaze falling to the cauldron once more. “Because I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

She didn’t reply for a few seconds. “I love him,” she said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know it isn’t,” she said. “But it’s the best I have. Because I know what marriage means to him and to both our families. And it feels strange to be considering that and my professional future at the same time. It feels so… dissonant. That’s the only way I know to describe it.”

Draco thought about that, staring into the iridescent surface of the potion between them. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems Lindsey’s and Mr. Hammond’s proposals have linked themselves in your mind. Do you think you cannot have one if you choose the other?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think it’s that simple. Although I’m not sure how Cole would feel about me accepting his proposal and then telling him I’m moving to Canada.”

“Is there some reason he can’t come with you? Quidditch is quite popular in Canada, as I understand it. And he’s quite good. I’m sure there are teams who would happily take him on-“

“I can’t ask that of him.”

“And why not?”

She looked at him incredulously. “He has his own career that he’s building here. There’s talk of him making the reserves for the international team, which is a big step. How can I ask him to put that on hold for my sake?”

“So you’ll put yours on hold for his?”

Her face tightened. “I have options. Lindsey’s offer was not the only one I received. There is a lab in London… it doesn’t have the same funding Lindsey’s does, or the same reputation. But I could be happy there. Or I could live off of the money the patent for this potion will likely bring in, fund my own research. I would still need a mentor, of course.” She looked up at him hopefully.

“And I will always be honored to fill that role, as you know,” he replied gently. “But is that what you really  _want_?”

“I want conflicting things at the same time,” she said. “I want… well, in truth, I want Cole to not have asked me yet.”

Draco snorted. “Well, that tells you something.”

“I’m only twenty!” she cried. “That’s all I meant. And he’s only twenty-two. Really. We have our whole lives. I just don’t see why we can’t wait. It would just… simplify things. It wouldn’t make it seem so strange for us to be long-distance for a little while. We could each get what we want from our careers and  _then_ move towards marriage, a family. I mean, Merlin,  _children_. I can’t even imagine having children right now. There’s so much else I want to  _do_ before then.”

“Marriage doesn’t mean having to have children right away, you know.”

“There’s been talk,” she grumbled, “amongst our families. Since before the proposal, even. My parents, his parents, they don’t understand my work. They don’t understand how much time and commitment it takes. They think I ought to just work  _around_ having children – or stop working altogether, would be their ideal. They don’t expect the same from Cole, of course.  _Someone_ has to bring in the gold. And, of course, it ought to be the  _man_ of the household...”

Draco was quiet, unsure how to react.

“I’m sorry,” she said, deflating. “I didn’t mean to spring all of this on you today. I suppose I have a lot on my mind.”

The blond chuckled. “Indeed.”

“I love Cole. I really do. I like the idea of being married to him, someday. But I want to do it  _sensibly_ , in way that will let us both get what we want. Like how you and Professor Potter did things. At your own pace, marrying once you were settled in your careers, not having a child until you’d had some time to  _be_ married. It sounds quite nice.”

“It works for us,” said Draco. “But not everyone has to go about it in the same way.”

“Perhaps not. But that’s the way I’d like to do it.”

“And is Mr. Hammond aware of any of this?”

“No, not really,” she admitted softly. “We haven’t talked about it. I don’t even really know how. He was quite sweet when he proposed, talking about how he knew I was meant for him the first time he kissed me, how excited he is for our future. It was all…” She sighed. “It was so very sweet. There’s really not a more wonderful man to be found anywhere, to be sure.”

“And yet you hesitate. Because of timing, or is there more to it?”

Her eyes widened. “That’s a frightening question.”

Draco nodded. “Then it’s probably a very important question to ask yourself. Perhaps the most important.”

She shook her head. “I don’t even know how to.”

Draco watched her a moment. “I can’t tell you the answer, obviously. Only you can know it. But I can tell you from my own experience that it must come from you and you alone. While there are many choices in life that are best made with the desires of others in mind, there are some that must be made with consideration of your own needs and desires first. I believe marriage to be the latter. Happiness rarely comes from marrying when and who others want you to and against your own wishes. It can lead to resentment, regret, a wondering what could have been if you had followed your own path. I wouldn’t recommend it. Of course, marrying even when you are absolutely certain doesn’t give you guarantees or leave you free from hardship either, but at least you know you chose it for yourself. And that’s worth a lot.”

“It does sound like you know from experience.”

“My marriage to Harry is my second marriage. Did you know that?”

Her answer was written on her face before she gave it aloud. “I didn’t.”

“I married at twenty-two, the same age as your Mr. Hammond, to a nineteen-year-old pureblood woman my parents picked out for me. Needless to say, it didn’t work out.”

“You just didn’t love each other in that way?” she guessed.

“No, actually. We did grow to love each other. But, in the end, it wasn’t enough. Because it wasn’t our choice, there would always be… there were certain things that got in the way of true commitment. It made the marriage unsustainable, much to my disappointment at the time and my great happiness now.”

She smiled. “Because you found Professor Potter.”

He smiled back. “Precisely.”

“And you made your own choice.”

“Yes. Many times over, for every step of our relationship. We made them together, openly and honestly.”

“So, is this your way of saying I ought to figure out what I want for myself, or your way of saying I need to speak openly and honestly to Cole about everything I’m feeling?”

Draco laughed. “I believe it’s a bit of both, in fact.”

She grimaced. “I figured as much.”

He laughed some more. “You are grown now, Raisie. Far be it for be to tell you what to do when it comes to the matters of your heart. I’m only… asking the questions you seem afraid to ask. And sharing some of my personal experience, as little or as much as that may be worth to you.”

“It’s always worth something to me, Draco,” she said. “You know that.”

Draco couldn’t help the warmth kindling in his chest. While he called her by her first name exclusively now, she usually called him “Professor” when they were working together, and only “Draco” in social settings. He never insisted upon this distinction, but he imagined Raisie did it out of respect for him as her teacher.

That distinction was nearly irrelevant now. She would complete her mastery in a few shorts weeks and he would no longer be her teacher. Their age gap would mean that she would likely come to him for advice more often than the other way around, but it would be much more informal, come July. It would be more like a friendship and less like a mentorship. Draco found himself both happy and melancholy at the prospect.

He helped her bottle the finished potion, turning the conversation back to her unfinished thesis and what sort of questions she could expect from her mastery panel. He placed some of the dissipated foam in vials for himself for future testing, promising her he would owl her the results, if anything interesting came up.

“My stomach’s grumbling,” she said, when everything was put away. “Seems we’ve finished just in time. I think I’ll pop down to the Great Hall for lunch, eat at the Gryffindor table with some old friends. Care to join me?”

“I would, but I’m expected in my quarters for lunch. A weekend tradition, you know, when neither of us is on duty.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m sure it’s especially hard to fit family time in, with the end of the school year approaching so quickly.”

“It’s not so bad as when exams start. But this is our last weekend together before the chaos. Must enjoy it while we can.”

“Certainly.” She embraced him. “Say hello to your boys for me.”

“I will.”

They parted ways outside of Draco’s Potions classroom, Draco making his way up a flight of stairs and turning down the Defense corridor. He rubbed his stomach, suddenly famished. He and Raisie had been brewing all morning, and he hadn’t noticed he was hungry until just now, when he didn’t have work to distract him. He hoped Harry would have already ordered some food from the elves for them, or perhaps whipped up something quick in the small kitchen they now had in their shared quarters.

When he opened to the door to their rooms, however, he found them empty and quiet, much to his confusion.

“Harry?” he called out. “Scorpius?”

He expected a muffled reply from another room, or perhaps a squeal and the pattering of small feet coming towards him. When no such answer came, he crossed the sitting room towards the bedroom door, only pausing when he noticed a bit of parchment lying conspicuously on the coffee table. There was a message on it, in Harry’s writing.

 

_D-_

_Scorp was absolutely climbing the walls waiting for you, so I thought some time spent outside might be in order. I hope that’s all right. I’ve asked the elves to pack us a picnic lunch and I’m taking our boisterous (uncontainable) son to the lake. Our usual spot. Join us when you can._

_Love,_

_H_

 

Laughing, Draco folded up the note and put it in his pocket. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. It was a beautiful day and their toddler rarely liked being cooped up inside for long. Deciding a relaxed picnic by the lake sounded just about perfect, Draco shed his teaching robes to reveal the much cooler Muggle clothing underneath. Considerably better suited for the sunny weather.

When he arrived in the entrance hall, he encountered a whole flock of students making their way to lunch. He looked around, wondering if Raisie was among them, but quickly spotted a distinct head of bright purple hair instead.

“Teddy!” he called.

His young cousin stopped and turned, causing his group of friends to pause as well. Draco made his way over to him.

“Hi, Draco,” Teddy said, grinning. His fellow Hufflepuffs smiled behind their hands. They were always a mixture of amused and awestruck by how casually Teddy was allowed to address their Potions professor. He was expected to call Draco “Professor” in class, of course, but sometimes even then he forgot, which always caused a round of giggles. “Coming in for lunch?”

“Meeting Harry and Scorp by the lake, actually,” Draco said. “But I wanted to remind you about you coming to ours for dinner tonight.”

“I remember,” said Teddy, rolling his eyes. This made his older cousin give him a pointed look.

“Your godfather is looking forward to it. He’s hardly seen you for the past three weeks, outside of class.” 

“I know,” Teddy said, having the decency to look sheepish. “I’ve just been busy, you know… studying and all.” His neck twitched subconsciously as he cast a quick glance at his friends, many of whom, Draco couldn’t help but notice, were very pretty girls.

“Mm-hm,” the blond replied. “Studying. Of course.” Teddy was very popular, unsurprising given his natural social intelligence and innately kind nature. But he was also, at thirteen, starting to prove himself a bit of a flirt, and Draco couldn’t help but feel that it might get him in trouble one day soon. “But you’ll be there tonight, half-six sharp, yes?”

“I’ll be there, I promise.”

“And if you’re late, you know I’ll come right to the common room and drag you out by your ear. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“No,” Teddy said, grinning again while the students around him giggled.

“Very well. The three of us will be at the usual spot all afternoon, by the way, if you care to join us.”

“Um, that sounds nice,” Teddy said, glancing back at his friends again. “But I should probably study. Exams  _do_ start tomorrow, you know.”

“Indeed they do,” Draco said, arching a knowing brow. “Enjoy your  _studying_ , then. I’ll see you tonight.”

He said goodbye to Teddy with a wave, shaking his head to himself as he made his way out of the entrance hall. The boy was still as much of a rascal as ever, though somehow still all the more loveable for it. It was probably for the best, he realized, that Teddy could be so nonchalant about the fact that he basically had two of his parents teaching at his school. For a more self-conscious child, it could get difficult to navigate, but Teddy had taken it all in stride since his arrival at Hogwarts almost two years ago.

 _I wonder how Scorpius will handle it_ , he thought as he made his way across the grounds.  _That is, if Harry and I are still teaching then._

They had another nine years before they’d have to worry about that, and a lot could change in a decade. At the same time, though, the life they had created for themselves here at Hogwarts was such a wonderful one, it was hard to imagine wanting to change anything. They both continued to love their work, and Draco especially felt he was becoming a better teacher with every year. They finally had Teddy here with them, much to Harry’s delight, although it was getting harder, as he entered adolescence, to get the boy to spend time with them rather than with his friends.

“At least we get to see him every day,” Harry had said when Draco brought it up to him. “At least we get to watch him grow. That’s what I always felt like I was missing before.”

Draco had to concede the point. And, despite his cheekiness and his tendency to put his social life first, Teddy was doing very well at Hogwarts. He made a strong showing in all of his classes, though he seemed to be developing a special affinity for Defense and Charms. He was already a burgeoning Quidditch star for the Hufflepuff team, though he’d only been a reserve Chaser for this, his second year. But he’d gotten to play in a match against Ravenclaw when one of the first-string Chasers was out with an injury, and it seemed a given that he would be making full Chaser next year.

And, of course, there was the fact that he was happy and healthy, which Harry cared most about, above all the rest. Draco too.

Having Scorpius also added to their delight in being at Hogwarts. Draco had to admit himself a little nervous when they’d first decided to have a child, despite how committed he had been to the idea from the beginning. He worried if parenting would feel like too much to handle on top of all of their duties. He worried that their marriage would suffer as a result as well. But he and Harry both badly wanted to be parents, and they had decided they were ready. It was worth the risk and the extra work.

Thankfully, his anxiety was alleviated quickly when he saw just how much support they would have. Minerva allowed both Draco and Harry to cut back on their hours for that first year with their new son, hiring guest professors to cover their lower year classes. She even encouraged Draco to leave off taking on a new apprentice, though he chose not to follow the advice, since Raisie had just graduated and was looking to start on her Potions mastery. He was certainly not going to let her go to a different master for that pivotal phase of her education.

But it had all worked out, helped on by the fact that they were not the only couple who were now parents at Hogwarts. Francesca and Neville had their little Emilia, only about six months older than Scorpius, plus another baby on the way. And with Flitwick retiring there was a new Charms professor being hired who had a five-year-old and one-year-old of his own. There would soon be plenty to justify a small nursery school at Hogwarts for the children of staff members. It meant there would be someone to care for Scorpius during the day while his fathers were teaching. And he would have a chance to be socialized with other children, on top of the excess of attention he received from the staff and the Hogwarts students, who loved to moon over him when he joined Harry and Draco in the Great Hall for a meal.

It wasn’t a bad place to grow up, really, Draco decided. There was plenty to explore, and as Scorpius loved to explore, it was all to the better. Harry often speculated that by the time he was of age, Scorpius would know more of the secrets of Hogwarts than the Marauders and the Golden Trio combined. Draco had a tendency to agree.

Naturally, their summers were still spent away from the Scottish castle, and were full of traveling and seeing the friends they had missed during the year. They were settled primarily at Malfoy Manor, though Scorpius certainly had a room at Grimmauld for the rare times they stayed there. Mostly the old Black house was used for Harry’s apprentices, who put the third-floor training facility through its paces with daily practice. Harry popped in occasionally to answer questions and give workshops, but was content to leave them to themselves. He found his family and friends far too enjoyable to be away from for long.

Summers always flew by when Harry and Draco were together, and Draco knew this approaching summer would be no different. They had their anniversary to celebrate right at the start, with Draco’s birthday only a few days later. Then there was a trip to Tuscany planned for mid-June, Scorpius’ second birthday in early July, and Harry’s at the end of the month. By then it would be August, and they would be wondering where the time had gone and already preparing for a new school year.

He considered idly, as he wound down the grounds past the greenhouses, what they would decide to do for each of their birthdays. For the last few years Harry and Pansy had insisted on throwing Draco a large party, which he secretly loved, and he hoped they’d made similar plans again. He likely wouldn’t know until a few days before; they always liked to keep it secret for as long as possible. Which was silly, really, but Draco let them have their fun.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed to change his desires each year. Sometimes he wanted a large gathering with everyone he knew, while other times he wanted it small and intimate, out at a nice restaurant or some picturesque outdoor venue. He usually managed to decide with enough time for Draco to plan accordingly. In truth, Draco hoped his husband would choose something similar to last year, when they’d had a party at the Burrow in the afternoon and then left their one-year-old with Ron and Hermione for the night. It was their son’s first ever sleepover and, more importantly, a much deserved private sleepover for Harry and Draco. They’d barely left the bed that evening, talking, cuddling, and making love for hours, only pausing to eat some takeaway in front of the television at Grimmauld Place. Some people might scoff at the simplicity and ordinariness of such a celebration, but those people weren’t parents and clearly didn’t understand how precious some alone time with one’s spouse could be. For Draco, it was one of the happiest nights in his recent memory.

He lingered on those memories with a smile as Greenhouse Five came up on his right, but was distracted when he caught sight of the figure inside through the cloudy glass windows. He paused in the doorway to get a proper look at Neville Longbottom, who was hunched over something in a flower pot, examining it carefully.

“Didn’t think you’d be working today, Nev,” he said. Draco had assumed that, like himself, he’d want to be spending his final free day before exams with his spouse and child.

Neville turned to him, grinning. “The  _lignum margarita_ was due to bloom this weekend. I’ve been checking every six hours since Friday. 

“And?” Draco asked, suddenly much more excited. The fact that Neville and one of his apprentices had managed to get their hands on a few miniature Pearl Tree specimens over the summer had only made the man grow in Draco’s esteem. And they already got on pretty well, considering their shared passions.

Neville’s grin widened, and he took a step back for Draco to have a look. “See for yourself.”

Draco stepped further into the greenhouse, bending over the small, twisted tree that was no larger than a bonsai, and which had hanging from its delicate branches iridescent blue spheres contained inside dark purple blooms.

“Incredible,” Draco breathed, studying their size. “This is just bloomed? How did you get it to produce such large pearls in this climate?”

“Very closely moderated temperature control. Hathaway has been obsessive about it, bless him.”

Hathaway Leeds was the apprentice that had helped Neville collect the plants in the first place, and, Draco always guessed, Neville’s favorite student. He was always around Hogwarts, helping Neville in the greenhouses, not unlike how Raisie always seemed to haunt Draco’s potions lab on weekends.

“They’re gorgeous. Perfect. The potions we could make with these…” He could do an entire unit on this single ingredient with his NEWT students. “How many trees did you say you have? A couple dozen?”

“Enough for our 6th years to practice harvesting the pearls next school year, with plenty left over for breeding. They should be fully ripe come October.”

“That’s perfect. Once they’ve harvested them I’ll have the class practice making Transparency tonics. They’re so hard to come by it’s unlikely the students have ever even seen one.”

“That was my thinking as well. It would be the perfect challenge for them, coming just off their OWLs.”

Draco clapped Neville on the back for a job well done. He was quite grateful for the man, after five years of working with him. Not just because he made his dear friend Francesca very happy, but also because he’d helped Draco develop an interdisciplinary curriculum for Herbology and Potions that had made each of their departments at Hogwarts the strongest of all the European schools and were producing more mastery students than ever. There were even some who, when unable to decide which subject they loved more, decided to double-master, which was an altogether new concept in their fields. It was exciting though, and, as their headmistress always insisted, a testament to how well they worked together. 

Draco never would have thought that Neville Longbottom would become one his closest and most valued friends. But, then again, his younger self never could have dreamed up any of this life, which only proved how little imagination his younger self had had.

“I’ve just got to spray them down, adjust the temperature, and leave them to themselves. They’ll do the rest.”

“Now they’ve bloomed, the worst is over,” agreed Draco. “Impressive work, really.”

“Ah,” Neville said, batting the compliment away. “Hathaway did the most difficult bits. All the nighttime sprays, cleaning the leaves…”

“But you trained him.”

Neville shrugged. “Got to spend my nights at home, tucked in bed, though, didn’t I?”

“Considering you have a two-year-old and a pregnant wife to care for, no one can blame you.”

Neville considered that, then shrugged again, clearly conceding the point.

“Hard to believe the first of June is nearly upon us.” That was Francesca’s due date, and there was an informal wager amongst the staff at how close to that date the baby would be born.

“I know,” said Neville, eyes widening with a sort of terrified happiness. “I’m not entirely sure we’re ready for it. The school year has distracted us and we’ve hardly considered what an adjustment it will be.”

“Ah, you’ll manage. You’ll always have us to help.”

“I’m hoping she’ll hold off at least an extra week, although I don’t know if Francesca feels the same way. But it would be easier if we could get ourselves back to Tuscany first. Can you imagine, a baby born at Hogwarts?”

“It would be historic, to be sure,” said Draco. “But perhaps the baby will wait, and he’ll be born on my birthday. Then you could name him after me,” he suggested with a wide smile.

Neville laughed. “Still so sure it’s a boy, aren’t you?”

“I just have a feeling,” said Draco. There were many who disagreed. There was a wager going amongst the staff about gender as well. “If only you’d let the Healers tell you and put us all out of our misery.”

“And ruin the surprise? Not a chance. Although I do quite like the idea of a boy. To have one of each, you know.”

“That’s how Harry and I feel. We’re hoping our next one is a girl, though of course we’ll be happy either way.”

“It’s decided, then?” Neville asked. “When last you two mentioned it, it seemed only a possibility.”

Draco felt his mouth twitch in a smile. “We’ve a meeting with Alexandra scheduled for right after my birthday.”

Alexandra Marchand was the witch who had been so kind as to be Harry and Draco’s surrogate for Scorpius. With two children of her own already and a genuine admiration for both men, she’d been very happy to help them. They were thrilled when they discovered, only a week or so ago, that she would be willing to carry for them a second time. Though Draco felt strongly, as Harry did, that love rather than blood was what connected a family, he liked the idea that his two children could have the same birth mother. With Draco as the biological father of Scorpius and Harry as the intended biological father of their second, a common surrogate had a nice symmetry to it, he thought.

“That’s wonderful,” replied Neville. “More children for Em and Scorpius to play with.”

“Indeed. And the other staff children that are coming next year.”

“I envy them. I always wanted siblings,” Neville said wistfully.

“So did I.”

They were each lost in their own thoughts a moment, staring at the Blue Pearl Tree. Draco was roused quickly, however, by a painful rumbling of his stomach, which reminded him of where he was supposed to be.

“Must be off, actually,” said Draco. “I’m meeting Harry and Scorpius at the lake, and I’m sure they’re wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“Oh, well then you shouldn’t keep them waiting. Say hello for me,” Neville replied. 

“I will. You should finish up here and get back to your wife as well. I’m sure she misses you.”

“She misses my foot massages, more like,” Neville said with a grin. “Not that I can blame her. Pregnancy really seems a right inconvenience, by the end. I don’t know how she manages it.”

Draco laughed. “Because the results are worth it.”

“Yes, they are.”

The two men said their goodbyes and Draco was off again, this time determined not to let himself get distracted. He was not only anxious to get to his lunch; all this talk of children had him craving to see his son again as well.

He finally came upon the lake and curved to the right, making his way to the flat bank and little copse of trees that had became “their spot.” It was Scorpius’ favorite place to play and Harry and Draco’s favorite place to lounge together and enjoy the outdoors when the weather was nice. It also happened to be not at all far from the place where Harry and Draco had gotten married four years earlier.

It was tradition for Malfoys to be married in the gardens at the manor, and Harry had made it clear that he was fine with that, if it was what Draco wanted. Draco decided quickly, however, that he hardly wanted his wedding to Harry (and certainly not his marriage) to be a repeat of the same he’d had with Astoria. He wanted a different venue, a place that they could revisit with fondness and was entirely theirs. 

Of course, one could argue that Hogwarts was not  _theirs_ at all, but belonged to many. But in a way, Draco thought, it  _was_ theirs. It was the place where they’d had nearly all of their tumultuous rivalry and eventual relationship. Hogwarts, more than the manor, more than Grimmauld, was their home, and Draco couldn’t think of a better place to mark their commitment to each other.

So they’d found a nice little clearing with plenty of room for seating and a lovely view of the lake, and they’d invited all of their loved ones and all of the Hogwarts staff and students to attend. Not everyone stayed behind for the ceremony that took place only a few days after the spring term was over, but many did, and Draco found it rather joyous to get to share this with his students as much as with his friends. 

The school had embraced Harry and Draco’s relationship fully from the beginning. Yes, there had been a lot of gossip early on about the two professors, but most of it was positive, and in the end the students were nothing but supportive. The staff even more so, especially since many of them had already suspected that something was going on between them even before they’d seen it in the papers.

The biggest surprise of that day for Draco had been seeing his mother in attendance. While they’d been in communication via owl all that year, it didn’t seem as though much progress at all was being made towards Lucius accepting the relationship. With that in mind, Draco had sent them a wedding invitation as a courtesy more than anything (and perhaps, if he was honest with himself, as a bit of a “fuck you” to his father), not expecting them to show. Lucius was absent, but Narcissa was there, if briefly. She stayed for the ceremony and for the reception in the Great Hall afterwards, and took care to spend at least a little while with Harry, trying to get to know him. She had declined an invitation to stay a few days at the manor, citing a need to return to France immediately. In that was implied a need to repair the damage she had obviously caused with Lucius by coming in the first place.

Though the visit was short, Draco had found himself gratified by the gesture. She was not willing to miss such an important moment in her son’s life. And that was progress, to be sure.

More progress had been made since Scorpius’ birth. It seemed having an actual living grandson was the final straw for Narcissa, and she could no longer condone Lucius’ attitude. (Draco suspected that the photos he and Harry had sent directly after the birth, of the two of them looking teary-eyed and overjoyed whilst holding their tiny newborn son, had some hand in it, though Narcissa never admitted as much.) She came for a visit that August, dragging a reluctant Lucius along with her, and forced father and son to sit in the same room together and be civil. It hadn’t been exactly… comfortable, but both of them had borne it with as much grace as they could muster.

Since then, Lucius Malfoy seemed to understand that, whether he liked it or not, this was the life Draco had chosen, and if he was going to have the opportunity to know his grandson at all, he was going to have to be tolerant of Draco’s life choices and of his partner. It hadn’t been an easy road, and there was a long way to go. But at least Draco wasn’t fully estranged from his parents. And his mother was quite warm now towards Harry, and doted on Scorpius like any grandmother ought to. For now, that was enough.

He finally came upon his destination, and it was Harry he saw first, lounging on a blanket under the trees and looking out towards the lake. At the sound of footsteps and the rustle of branches, however, he turned his head and immediately smiled. Draco smiled back.

“Scorpius!” Harry called. “Look who’s here!”

The toddler was crouched at the very edge of the lake, digging for something with his hands. But upon hearing Harry’s voice he looked up with wide eyes.

“Daddy!” he squealed as he caught sight of Draco waiting for him. On small, slightly wobbly legs he ran towards the blond, who opened his arms and scooped him up as soon as he was near.

“Hello, sweet boy,” Draco murmured to him, kissing him all over his pudgy cheeks and making him giggle. “I missed you.”

“Miss you, Daddy,” replied Scorpius, staring at him with hazel orbs so much like his birth mother’s.

He was an even mix of Draco and the chestnut-haired Alexandra. There was much of Draco to find in the shape of his face, though the nose, he thought, was hers. His hair was a straw blond that Draco was sure would darken as he got older, and was thicker than Draco’s had ever been. He would never be the “ideal” (platinum-haired, gray-eyed) Malfoy heir that Lucius had wanted Draco and Astoria to create, but that hardly mattered. To Draco and Harry, he was perfect.

“Are you hungry?” Draco asked his son. The boy nodded, though reluctantly, making Draco chuckle. Scorpius would always rather play than eat, so much so that it was often difficult to get him to finish a meal. His picky eating habits didn’t help much either, but they were working on that. “Good, because I’m starving.”

He made his way over to the blanket where Harry sat, setting Scorpius down before sitting himself.

“Hi,” Draco said to his husband.

“Hi,” Harry replied, eyes twinkling.

Draco leaned in for a kiss, interrupting Harry’s preparation of Scorpius’ lunch. He was making what he always referred to as the “toddler jumble,” bite-sized pieces of the random foods they knew they could get Scorpius to eat, all together in one bowl. Today it appeared to be roast chicken, pasta with broccoli mixed in, and sliced strawberries.

Harry obliged him, of course, humming as Draco lingered against his lips.

“Sorry it took a while,” he said. “I kept running into people on my way here.”

“No problem,” said Harry. “We’ve just been passing the time lazily. Or I have anyway. Scorpius has been very productive, of course.”

“I can only imagine,” the blond replied with a grin.

“I sit your lap, Daddy?” Scorpius asked, getting back Draco’s attention.

“Of course, love,” said Draco.

“But washing up, first, remember?” Harry said, pulling out his wand. Scorpius dutifully held out his muddy hands, giggling softly as the magic of Harry’s  _scourgify_ charm washed over him. When his hands were mud-free Harry grabbed them in his and kissed them soundly, turning Scorpius’ laughter into a happy shriek. “All clean,” said Harry, smiling. “You can go to your dad now.”

Scorpius settled himself in Draco’s lap and Harry handed over the bowl of jumble before starting to prepare plates for the two of them. He asked after Raisie and Draco filled him in, mentioning her conundrum over Lindsey’s offer and Cole Hammond’s proposal.

“I don’t envy her that decision,” Harry said with a small sigh.

“Nor do I,” said Draco. “Of course, I know what I would do if I were her, in hindsight of my own experience. But it’s much harder to make when you’re her age and you have your whole life ahead of you, and you don’t know what’s going to happen.”

Harry handed Draco his plate, which he set beside him on the blanket, since Scorpius was taking up all the room in front of him. “You’d take the job, is what you mean.”

“Yeah, I would. Knowing what I know now… If I could do it all again I would have prioritized my career over marriage. Because it’s hard to know, when you’re that young, what you really want out of a relationship. I just think if she chooses to marry Hammond and stay in the UK, she might regret it. Or she might resent him, later on.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “I think you’re right that a person is more likely to be ready for a relationship when they’re older. But then I look at my parents… I mean, they were married right out of Hogwarts. My mum was the same age as Raisie when she had me. And not that… there were any guarantees or anything, but they really loved each other, and I’d like to think that they would have stayed together, that they would have had a good marriage, if things hadn’t…” He trailed off, avoiding the subject of their death. It was probably more for Scorpius’ benefit than for his own, though Scorpius didn’t appear to be listening. He was more interested in his strawberries.

“I’m sure they would have, Harry,” Draco replied gently. “But they chose each other. Like you said, they loved each other.”

“And Raisie doesn’t love Cole?” Harry countered with a lopsided smile. “They’re not you and Astoria. You have to remember that.”

Draco sighed. “Yes, fair point. I know have a bias, a stake in her decision. She’s just so brilliant, exceptional. And I don’t want anything to stop her from continuing to be exceptional. She could change the world, if she wanted to.” He kissed the top of his son’s head, then reached for a piece of bread to munch on.

“You think Cole holds her back.”

Draco looked at his husband. “Yeah. I do.”

“Maybe he does. I don’t know. It’s not… the most obvious pairing, I’ll give you that. But lots of people said that about Ron and Hermione. And look how good they are together.”

“People have said the same about us.”

“True. And they’re dunderheads, of course,” Harry said, grinning. “We’re  _perfect_.”

Draco laughed. Both men knew they were far from perfect. They argued just like any married couple, more than Draco ever argued with Astoria. Then again, Draco was also about a hundred times happier being married to Harry than he ever was with Astoria, even on their best days. And they talked and discussed more than they actually fought, which Draco counted as a win.

“In our own way, we are, actually,” he said. He stroked his fingers through his son’s hair and gave him another kiss before meeting his husband’s eyes.

Harry was looking at him tenderly, but rolled his eyes when they caught Draco’s. “You sap,” he said. “And at the most inconvenient times too, when I can’t properly snog you.”

“You love it,” Draco replied, making Harry snort.

“Yes, I suppose. And you.”

Draco didn’t get a chance to reply, because Scorpius had suddenly turned around in his lap and was trying to press a piece of chicken into Draco’s mouth.

“Mmph,” Draco said, tightening his lips and pulling away. His son continued to hold the chicken out to him. “No thank you, Scorpius,” he said patiently, knowing this trick. When there was a bit of food Scorp didn’t feel like eating, he tried to pawn it off on someone else. “That’s not for me. It’s for you.”

Scorpius didn’t reply, only stared at him a moment with a furrowed brow.

“For you to eat,” Draco repeated, tapping his son on the lips.

Turning back around, Scorpius held the piece of chicken out to Harry instead.

“No, that’s not for Daddy either,” Draco said. “It’s for you. Daddy has his own lunch, see?”

Harry held up his plate and took a bite of chicken, to demonstrate. Draco leaned over, watching his son as he considered the situation. Finally, Scorpius put the piece of chicken in his mouth and then reached for a piece of pasta from his bowl. Both men let out a relieved breath, their eyes meeting over Scorpius’ head.

“Small victories,” Harry said quietly, and Draco smiled.

“I have juice, peez, Daddy?” Scorpius asked Harry after he’d swallowed his food. The brunet handed over the boy’s charmed no-spill cup, which he drank from immediately, only pausing to take a loud breath before resuming.

Draco laughed. “Thirsty boy,” he said.

“You’ve hardly eaten anything,” Harry observed to his partner, glancing at the still-full plate next to him. “Let me take him for a bit, so you can actually eat.”

“No, thanks. I’m all right for a little while longer.” He  _was_ hungry, but he was content to have his son near, the small weight of him in his lap a comfort more than any food could be. Nothing felt more right than this. He bent his head, burying his nose in Scorpius’ hair a moment before giving him another kiss on the head. When he looked up, Harry was giving him a soft and knowing look.

“Eat a little something, then,” he encouraged. “I just heard you say you were starving. It’s hard for me to concentrate, knowing that.”

Fully aware of Harry’s issues around hunger and starvation, Draco obliged, picking up a sausage roll from his plate and taking a large bite. He moaned happily as he chewed. “These are good.”

“Thank the elves. They put together our favorites for us.”

“I’ll miss this,” said Draco, looking out at the lake.

“We can have plenty of picnics in the park this summer if we want,” Harry pointed out. 

“Yes, but nothing’s as nice as being at Hogwarts. And you’re a very good cook, but there’s something about the food the elves make…”

Harry smirked. “You’re just going to miss Hogwarts in general. You always do.”

“Yes, all right,” Draco admitted. “I do always miss Hogwarts. Though I like seeing all our friends and I like not having a full schedule of classes every day.”

“And don’t forget Tuscany,” Harry interjected.

“And I love visiting Nev and Francesca in Tuscany,” Draco agreed. 

“And all three of our birthdays to celebrate.”

“Yes.”

“And our anniversary.”

“Which reminds me,” Draco said, holding up a finger. “We need to finalize our plans. They’re holding a private dining room at Voyage for us for our usual time. Do you want to keep it or not?”

Harry didn’t answer, as Scorpius was starting to squirm in Draco’s lap, clearly feeling done with lunch and distracting them both. He handed Draco his small bowl and made to stand.

“Let me see,” said Draco, looking inside to determine how much his son had eaten. He was surprised to find most of the food gone. “Well done, Scorp,” he said. “You liked that pasta, huh? We’ll have to remember that one.”

“Yeah,” said Scorpius, not too interested in that observation. “I go pay now?”

“Sure, love, go play. Stay at the edge of the water, though, ok? Don’t go in without me or Daddy.”

“Ok, Daddy,” the boy replied, before running off. Both men followed him with their eyes, making sure he did as he was told. He looked back at them before settling himself on a little patch of dirt not far from the water. Draco returned his attention to Harry, satisfied.

“Voyage?” he prompted.

Harry fiddled with a crust of bread before setting his entire lunch plate aside. Draco took a bite of chicken and watched him.

“I’m torn,” said Harry. 

“Would you like to go somewhere else? I thought you liked the tradition. But we don’t have to-“

“No, I love Voyage, you know that. It’s, you know… it’s our place. The problem is, the food is so good that we end up eating a whole lot of it, plus all the wine we drink, and by the time we get home we’re stuffed and a little drunk and not really up for sex. And that didn’t use to be a problem, because we could have sex whenever we wanted. But now we have Scorp, and this is one of the few nights we have to ourselves, and… frankly, I have every intention of shagging you senseless. That’s my main priority. And a dinner at Voyage interferes with that, I’m afraid.”

Laughing, Draco nodded his head. “You have a good point. It would be a shame to waste the alone time.”

“Not that dinner with you is a waste, that’s not what I-“

“I know it’s not what you meant. I know what you meant,” Draco answered, looking at Harry warmly. 

“I know just takeaway at home or something isn’t very festive…” Harry said. “Obviously I want it to be special.”

Draco considered the dilemma. “How about this: we push the reservation back an hour and also leave Scorpius at Ron and Hermione’s earlier than we planned. That would give us a few hours  _before_ dinner to shag each other’s brains out. We work up an appetite, go to Voyage, enjoy ourselves without any guilt or pressure, get a good night’s rest, and have even more sex in the morning if we feel like it, before we go retrieve Scorpius.”

“Hmmm…” Harry’s mouth twitched, fighting a smile as he thought that over. “That sounds just about perfect, actually.”

“Thought so,” Draco said, pleased he’d solved the problem. He scooted closer, leaning in for a kiss. Harry rested a hand on Draco’s neck, holding him there.

“That will feel like enough of a celebration for you?” Harry asked when Draco pulled away.

“Quite. I’ll have you all to myself, so I’ll be happy.”

Harry kissed him again, his hand venturing down to rub along Draco’s chest and stomach. “The things I’m going to do to you,” he murmured. “Just you wait.”

“Harry…” Draco replied, feeling his cock stirring in his pants. “You know the rules. No getting hot and bothered when there are children present.”

Harry pouted but pulled away. “Yes, I know. Not that Scorp pays much attention anyway.” They both turned to look at their son, who had returned to digging in the dirt with a stick, babbling happily to himself all the while. 

“And if a student out for a walk stumbles upon us talking dirty to each other? What then?”

“Then we’ll only confirm what the student body already assumes: that we’re totally hot for each other. They’ll be quite gratified, I’m sure.”

Draco laughed. It was true that since their relationship went public, the students seemed to love to discuss them and what their relationship was like. He supposed that two relatively young, good-looking professors could generate that kind of buzz, particularly amongst the older students. It didn’t help that many of them attended the wedding, meaning they heard Harry and Draco’s marriage vows and got to witness just how deeply in love they were. The two professors had yet to cease being a hot topic when it came to gossip. 

“No need to feed the fire,” Draco pointed out. “Particularly because it’s also feeding  _mine_ , without any promise of satisfaction anytime soon.”

“Hmmm,” said Harry, his hand teasing Draco’s thigh now. “Maybe Scorpius will be worn out from all this playing today and we can put him down early. Then I can help you take care of your little problem.”

Draco gasped as Harry’s hand brushed lightly along his hardening cock. Even now, after four years of marriage, Harry knew exactly how to get Draco going. “Bloody tease,” he growled, nipping at Harry’s bottom lip.

The brunet grinned. “Is it teasing if I fully intend to follow through?”

“Don’t forget we have Teddy for dinner tonight,” Draco reminded him.

“All the better. He loves to play with Scorpius. He’ll wear him out even more.”

Draco shook his head, kissing Harry firmly. “We can only hope.”

“Daddy!” they both heard Scorpius squeal. They turned their heads automatically, since they both answered to that name from their son. The boy was running towards them, something clutched in his hand. “Look what I have.”

“Let’s see, Scorp,” said Harry. The boy opened his hands to reveal a small stone, white, with lines of shimmering gold running through it. “Wow, love. That’s beautiful. We’ll have to add it to your collection.”

“Yeah,” said Scorpius, grinning. “You have it, ok?”

“We’ll keep it safe for you,” Harry promised. “Can you find even more?”

“Yeah. I go get more,” Scorpius agreed, running off again.

Both men looked at the stone in Harry’s hand.

“It is a nice one,” Draco remarked. They both chuckled. Scorpius was always bringing them little “treasures” he’d found outside. Some were much prettier than others, but they all ended up in Scorpius’ collection in his room, for further examination before bedtime.

Harry put the stone in his pocket and conjured a couple of cushions for them to lie back against as they watched Scorpius play. Draco followed Harry’s example, lounging back and putting an arm around him. They were quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying the moment. Then Harry turned over, resting a hand on Draco’s stomach and getting his head comfortable in the crook of Draco’s shoulder.

“I heard from Alexandra this morning,” he said. “We’re all set to meet on the 8th.”

“Oh, good,” said Draco. “I mentioned it to Neville a little while ago. I ran into him on my way here. I hope that’s all right.”

“Of course,” said Harry. “It wasn’t a secret. Ron and Hermione already know.”

“True.”

“Though Ron’s thoroughly warned me that a second child changes everything,” Harry added, amused.

“I think we can handle it,” said Draco.

“I think so too. We’ll have plenty of help.”

“Yes, we will. Plus Hugo is especially a handful, so it’s no wonder Ron is feeling overworked.”

“And who says our next little one won’t be a handful as well?” Harry asked, tilting his head to meet Draco’s eyes. “Toddlers are rarely easy.”

“Yes, but hopefully ours is a girl. Girls are easier, and sweeter.”

Harry snorted. “I don’t know about that. I think it depends on the personality of the child, rather than the gender. Scorpius is plenty sweet, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Yes, he is, but he’s also… What’s the word you used in your note this morning? ‘Uncontainable?’”

Harry laughed against him. “I did write that, didn’t I? Well, it’s true, I suppose. It’s just that he wants to be outside all the time. But when he is, he’s plenty good at entertaining himself. Hugo, on the other hand, is one of those children who requires a lot of attention. He always needs someone to play with.”

Harry had a point. Hugo was a burgeoning extrovert, who got attached to new people very quickly and was always looking for others to interact with. Scorpius was very happy on his own, though he also got along well with Emilia Longbottom when they played together.

“He just loves to be out in the world and discover things,” Harry added with a contented sigh. “Maybe he’ll end up in Ravenclaw.”

“Hmm, maybe,” said Draco, trying to picture that. It made sense, though the thought of how Lucius would react to such news made him huff in amusement. “My father would just love that, I’m sure.”

“Oh, of all the things to care about,” said Harry. “Would it really bother him that much? Better than Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, at least, right? Ravenclaws are supposed to be highly intelligent. I thought he’d value that more.”

“Ah, but he would argue that it’s all about what  _kind_ of intelligence,” Draco answered. “And he prefers the cunning to the intellectual. That’s what Malfoys are supposed to be at any rate. Malfoy heirs especially. Slytherin is the only place they could belong, he would say.”

“Yes, well, as far as what Malfoy heirs are  _supposed_ to be, that ship has sailed, don’t you think? After all, Malfoy heirs are supposed to be pureblood as well.”

“And not have two dads,” Draco added.

“And not be named after Gryffindor war heroes.”

“Indeed,” Draco agreed sardonically, remembering how incensed Lucius was when he’d learned his grandson’s full name: Scorpius James Potter-Malfoy. Not exactly what the Malfoy patriarch had in mind. “They also aren’t supposed to play in the mud and get their hands dirty before lunch.”

“Now that’s just sad,” Harry said.

“That was my childhood,” said Draco, his tone wistful. Harry’s arm around him tightened. “Which is why it won’t be Scorpius’. I let go of ‘supposed to’ a long time ago.”

“And I’m very, very glad of that,” said Harry, lifting his head to give Draco a kiss.

Draco kissed him back, smiling, before Harry rested his head on Draco’s chest again. Draco lifted a hand to stroke through his husband’s hair, thinking how glad he was as well that he had been able to let go of those kinds of expectations. Everything was so much sweeter, so much  _better_ , without them.

It wasn’t always this easy. There were days when work felt like too much or Scorpius was acting out, days when he just wanted a proper night’s sleep. There were days when his father’s behavior made him so angry he could scream, or days when some residual tension from their shared history would rear its head between him and the Weasleys. But he always got through it. They got through it together.

And there were so many times like this, when he could just relax, just be, with Harry wrapped around him and his son happy and exploring and bringing them little treasures. There were days of family and joy and celebration, of friends and good humor and acceptance. There were days where his heart felt so full that it almost hurt.

It was a beautiful life, and he had built it himself. He was free.

**_The End._ **

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Book Cover for A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513334) by [Fraddit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fraddit/pseuds/Fraddit)




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